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diff --git a/2573-h/2573-h.htm b/2573-h/2573-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e763b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/2573-h/2573-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10301 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Caged Lion</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Caged Lion, by Charlotte M. Yonge</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Caged Lion, by Charlotte M. Yonge + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Caged Lion + + +Author: Charlotte M. Yonge + +Release Date: May 11, 2005 [eBook #2573] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAGED LION*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1912 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>THE CAGED LION</h1> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> +<p>When the venture has been made of dealing with historical events +and characters, it always seems fair towards the reader to avow what +liberties have been taken, and how much of the sketch is founded on +history. In the present case, it is scarcely necessary to do more +than refer to the almost unique relations that subsisted between Henry +V. and his prisoner, James I. of Scotland; who lived with him throughout +his reign on the terms of friend rather than of captive, and was absolutely +sheltered by this imprisonment throughout his nonage and early youth +from the frightful violence and presumption of the nobles of his kingdom.</p> +<p>James’s expedition to Scotland is wholly imaginary, though +there appears to have been space for it during Henry’s progress +to the North to pay his devotions at Beverley Minster. The hero +of the story is likewise invention, though, as Froissart ascribes to +King Robert II. ‘eleven sons who loved arms,’ Malcolm may +well be supposed to be the son of one of those unaccounted for in the +pedigrees of Stewart. The same may be said of Esclairmonde. +There were plenty of Luxemburgs in the Low Countries, but the individual +is not to be identified. Readers of Tyler’s ‘Henry +V.,’ of Agnes Strickland’s ‘Queens,’ Tytler’s +‘Scotland,’ and Barante’s ‘Histoire de Bourgogne’ +will be at no loss for the origin of all I have ventured to say of the +really historical personages. Mr. Fox Bourne’s ‘English +Merchants’ furnished the tradition respecting Whittington. +I am afraid the knighthood was really conferred on Henry’s first +return to England, after the battle of Agincourt; but human—or +at least story-telling—nature could not resist an anachronism +of a few years for such a story. The only other wilful alteration +of a matter of time is with regard to the Duke of Burgundy’s interview +with Henry. At the time of Henry’s last stay at Paris the +Duke was attending the death-bed of his wife, Michelle of France, but +he had been several times in the King’s camp at the siege of Meaux.</p> +<p>Another alteration of fact is that Ralf Percy, instead of being second +son of Hotspur, should have been Henry Percy, son of Hotspur’s +brother Ralf; but the name would have been so confusing that it was +thought better to set Dugdale at defiance and consider the reader’s +convenience. Alice Montagu, though her name sounds as if it came +out of the most commonplace novelist’s repertory, was a veritable +personage—the heiress of the brave line of Montacute, or Montagu; +daughter to the Earl of Salisbury who was killed at the siege of Orleans; +wife to the Earl of the same title (in her right) who won the battle +of Blore Heath and was beheaded at Wakefield; and mother to Earl Warwick +the King-maker, the Marquis of Montagu, and George Nevil, Archbishop +of York. As nothing is known of her but her name, I have ventured +to make use of the blank.</p> +<p>For Jaqueline of Hainault, and her pranks, they are to be found in +Monstrelet of old, and now in Barante; though justice to her and Queen +Isabeau compels me to state that the incident of the ring is wholly +fictitious. Of the trial of Walter Stewart no record is preserved +save that he was accused of ‘<i>roborica</i>.’ James +Kennedy was the first great benefactor to learning in Scotland, and +founder of her earliest University, having been himself educated at +Paris.</p> +<p>The Abbey of Coldingham is described from a local compilation of +the early part of the century, with an account of the history of that +grand old foundation, and the struggle for appointments between the +parent house at Durham and the Scottish Government. Priors Akefield +and Drax are historical, and as the latter really did commission a body +of moss-troopers to divert an instalment of King James’s ransom +into his own private coffers, I do not think I can have done him much +injustice. As the nunnery of St. Abbs has gone bodily into the +sea, I have been the less constrained by the inconvenient action of +fact upon fiction. And for the Hospital of St. Katharine’s-by-the-Tower, +its history is to be found in Stowe’s ‘Survey of London,’ +and likewise in the evidence before the Parliamentary Commission, which +shows what it was intended by Queen Philippa to have been to the river-side +population, and what it might have been had such intentions been understood +and acted on—nay, what it may yet become, since the foundation +remains intact, although the building has been removed.</p> +<p>C. M. YONGE.</p> +<p>November 24, 1869.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER I: THE GUEST OF GLENUSKIE</h2> +<p>A master hand has so often described the glens and ravines of Scotland, +that it seems vain and presumptuous to meddle with them; and yet we +must ask our readers to figure to themselves a sharp cleft sloping downwards +to a brawling mountain stream, the sides scattered with gray rocks of +every imaginable size, interspersed here and there with heather, gorse, +or furze. Just in the widest part of the valley, a sort of platform +of rock jutted out from the hill-side, and afforded a station for one +of those tall, narrow, grim-looking fastnesses that were the strength +of Scotland, as well as her bane.</p> +<p>Either by nature or art, the rock had been scarped away on three +sides, so that the walls of the castle rose sheer from the steep descent, +except where the platform was connected with the mountain side by, as +it were, an isthmus joining the peninsula to the main rock; and even +this isthmus, a narrow ridge of rock just wide enough for the passage +of a single horse, had been cut through, no doubt with great labour, +and rendered impassable, except by the lowering of a drawbridge. +Glenuskie Castle was thus nearly impregnable, so long as it was supplied +with water, and for this all possible provision had been made, by guiding +a stream into the court.</p> +<p>The castle was necessarily narrow and confined; its massive walls +took up much even of the narrow space that the rock afforded; but it +had been so piled up that it seemed as though the builders wished to +make height compensate for straitness. There was, too, an unusual +amount of grace, both in the outline of the gateway with its mighty +flanking towers, and of the lofty donjon tower, that shot up like a +great finger above the Massy More, as the main building was commonly +called by the inhabitants of Glenuskie.</p> +<p>Wondrous as were the walls, and deep-set as were the arches, they +had all that peculiar slenderness of contour that Scottish taste seemed +to have learnt from France; and a little more space was gained at the +top, both of the gateway towers and the donjon, by a projecting cornice +of beautifully vaulted arches supporting a battlement, that gave the +building a crowned look. On the topmost tower was of course planted +the ensign of the owner, and that ensign was no other than the regal +ruddy Lion of Scotland, ramping on his gold field within his tressure +fiery and counter flory, but surmounted by a label divided into twelve, +and placed upon a pen-noncel, or triangular piece of silk. The +eyes of the early fifteenth century easily deciphered such hieroglyphics +as these, which to every one with the least tincture of ‘the noble +science’ indicated that the owner of the castle was of royal Stewart +blood, but of a younger branch, and not yet admitted to the rank of +knighthood.</p> +<p>The early spring of the year 1421 was bleak and dreary in that wild +lonely vale, and large was the fire burning on the hearth in the castle +hall, in the full warmth of which there sat, with a light blue cloth +cloak drawn tightly round him, a tall old man, of the giant mould of +Scotland, and with a massive thoughtful brow, whose grand form was rendered +visible by the absence of hair, only a few remnants of yellow locks +mixed with silver floating from his temples to mingle with his magnificent +white beard. A small blue bonnet, with a short eagle feather, +fastened with a brooch of river pearl, was held in the hands that were +clasped over his face, as, bending down in his chair, he murmured through +his white beard, ‘Have mercy, good Lord, have mercy on the land. +Have mercy on my son,—and guard him when he goes out and when +he comes in. Have mercy on the children I have toiled for, and +teach me to judge and act for them aright in these sore straits; and +above all, have mercy on our King, break his fetters, and send him home +to be the healer of his land, the avenger of her cruel wrongs.’</p> +<p>So absorbed was the old man that he never heard the step that came +across the hall. It was a slightly unequal step, but was carefully +hushed at entrance, as if supposing the old man asleep; and at a slow +pace the new-comer crossed the hall to the chimney, where he stood by +the fire, warming himself and looking wistfully at the old Knight.</p> +<p>He was wrapped in a plaid, black and white, which increased the gray +appearance of the pale sallow face and sad expression of the wearer, +a boy of about seventeen, with soft pensive dark eyes and a sickly complexion, +with that peculiar wistful cast of countenance that is apt to accompany +deformity, though there was no actual malformation apparent, unless +such might be reckoned the slight halt in the gait, and the small stature +of the lad, who was no taller than many boys of twelve or fourteen. +But there was a depth of melancholy in those dark brown eyes, that went +far into the heart of any one who had the power to be touched with their +yearning, appealing, almost piteous gaze, as though their owner had +come into a world that was much too hard for him, and were looking out +in bewilderment and entreaty for some haven of peace.</p> +<p>He had stood for some minutes looking thoughtfully into the fire, +and the sadness of his expression ever deepening, before the old man +raised his face, and said, ‘You here, Malcolm? where are the others?’</p> +<p>‘Patie and Lily are still on the turret-top, fair Uncle,’ +returned the boy. ‘It was so cold;’ and he shivered +again, and seemed as though he would creep into the fire.</p> +<p>‘And the reek?’ asked the uncle.</p> +<p>‘There is another reek broken out farther west,’ replied +Malcolm. ‘Patie is sure now that it is as you deemed, Uncle; +that it is a cattle-lifting from Badenoch.’</p> +<p>‘Heaven help them!’ sighed the old man, again folding +his hands in prayer. ‘How long, O Lord, how long?’</p> +<p>Malcolm took up the appeal of the Psalm, repeating it in Latin, but +with none the less fervency; that Psalm that has ever since David’s +time served as the agonized voice of hearts hot-burning at the sight +of wrong.</p> +<p>‘Ah yes,’ he ended, ‘there is nothing else for +it! Uncle, this was wherefore I came. It was to speak to +you of my purpose.’</p> +<p>‘The old purpose, Malcolm? Nay, that hath been answered +before.’</p> +<p>‘But listen, listen, dear Uncle. I have not spoken of +it for a full year now. So that you cannot say it is the caresses +of the good monks. No, nor the rude sayings of the Master of Albany,’ +he added, colouring at a look of his uncle. ‘You bade me +say no more till I be of full age; nor would I, save that I were safe +lodged in an abbey; then might Patrick and Lily be wedded, and he not +have to leave us and seek his fortune far away in France; and in Patie’s +hands and leading, my vassals might be safe; but what could the doited +helpless cripple do?’ he added, the colour rising hotly to his +cheek with pain and shame. ‘Oh, Sir, let me but save my +soul, and find peace in Coldingham!’</p> +<p>‘My poor bairn,’ said his uncle, laying a kind hand upon +him, as in his eagerness he knelt on one knee beside the chair, ‘it +must not be. It is true that the Regent and his sons would willingly +see you in a cloister. Nay, that unmanly jeer of Walter Stewart’s +was, I verily believe, meant to drive you thither. But were you +there, then would poor Lilias become a prize worth having, and the only +question would be, whether Walter of Albany, or Robert of Athole, or +any of the rest of them, should tear her away to be the lady of their +fierce ungodly households.’</p> +<p>‘You could give her to Patrick, Uncle.’</p> +<p>‘No, Malcolm, that were not consistent with mine honour, or +oaths to the King and State. You living, and Laird of Glenuskie, +Lilias is a mere younger sister, whom you may give in marriage as you +will; but were you dead to the world, under a cowl, then the Lady of +Glenuskie, a king’s grandchild, may not be disposed of, save by +her royal kinsman, or by those who, woe worth the day! stand in his +place. I were no better than yon Wolf of Badenoch or the Master +of Albany, did I steal a march on the Regent, and give the poor lassie +to my own son!’</p> +<p>‘And so Lilias must pine, and Patrick wander off to the weary +French war,’ sighed Malcolm; ‘and I must be scorned by my +cousins whenever the House of Stewart meets together; and must strive +with these fierce cruel men, that will ever be too hard for me when +Patie is gone.’ His eyes filled with tears as he continued, +‘Ah! that fair chapel, with the sweet chant of the choir, the +green smooth-shaven quadrangle, the calm cloister walk; there, there +alone is rest. There, one ceases to be a prey and a laughing-stock; +there, one sees no more bloodshed and spulzie; there, one need not be +forced to treachery or violence. Oh, Uncle! my very soul is sick +for Coldingham. How many years will it be ere I can myself bestow +my sister on Patie, and hide my head in peace!’</p> +<p>Before his uncle had done more than answer, ‘Nay, nay, Malcolm, +these are no words for the oe of Bruce; you are born to dare as well +as to suffer,’ there was an approach of footsteps, and two young +people entered the hall; the first a girl, with a family likeness to +Malcolm, but tall, upright, beautiful, and with the rich colouring of +perfect health, her plaid still hanging in a loose swelling hood round +her brilliant face and dark hair, snooded with a crimson ribbon and +diamond clasp; the other, a knightly young man, of stately height and +robust limbs, keen bright blue eyes and amber hair and beard, moving +with the ease and grace that showed his training in the highest school +of chivalry.</p> +<p>‘Good Uncle,’ cried the maiden in eager excitement, ‘there +is a guest coming. He has just turned over the brae side, and +can be coming nowhere but here.’</p> +<p>‘A guest!’ cried both Malcolm and the elder knight, ‘of +what kind, Lily?’</p> +<p>‘A knight—a knight in bright steel, and with three attendants,’ +said Lilias; ‘one of Patrick’s French comrades, say I, by +the grace of his riding.’</p> +<p>‘Not a message from the Regent, I trust,’ sighed Malcolm. +‘Patie, oh do not lower the drawbridge, till we hear whether it +be friend or foe.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, Malcolm, ’tis well none save friends heard that,’ +said Patrick. ‘When shall we make a brave man of you?’</p> +<p>‘Nevertheless, Patie,’ said the old gentleman, ‘though +I had rather the caution had come from the eldest rather than the youngest +head among us, parley as much as may serve with honour and courtesy +ere opening the gate to the stranger. Hark, there is his bugle.’</p> +<p>A certain look of nervous terror passed over young Malcolm’s +face, while his sister watched full of animation and curiosity, as one +to whom excitement of any kind could hardly come amiss, exclaiming, +as she looked from the window, ‘Fear not, most prudent Malcolm; +Father Ninian is with him: Father Ninian must have invited him.’</p> +<p>‘Strange,’ muttered Patrick, ‘that Father Ninian +should be picking up and bringing home stray wandering land-loupers;’ +and with an anxious glance at Lilias, he went forward unwillingly to +perform those duties of hospitality which had become necessary, since +the presence of the castle chaplain was a voucher for the guest. +The drawbridge had already been lowered, and the new-comer was crossing +it upon a powerful black steed, guided by Father Ninian upon his rough +mountain pony, on which he had shortly before left the castle, to attend +at a Church festival held at Coldingham.</p> +<p>The chaplain was a wise, prudent, and much-respected man; nevertheless, +young Sir Patrick Drummond felt little esteem for his prudence in displaying +one at least of the treasures of the castle to the knight on the black +horse. The stranger was a very tall man, of robust and stalwart +make, apparently aged about seven or eight and twenty years, clad in +steel armour, enamelled so as to have a burnished blue appearance; but +the vizor of the helmet was raised, and the face beneath it was a manly +open face, thoroughly Scottish in its forms, but very handsome, and +with short dark auburn hair, and eyes of the same peculiar tint, glancing +with a light that once seen could never be forgotten; and the bearing +was such, that Patrick at once growled to himself, ‘One of our +haughty loons, brimful of <i>outre cuidance</i>; and yet how coolly +he bears it off. If he looks to find us his humble servants, he +will find himself mistaken, I trow.’</p> +<p>‘Sir Patrick,’ said Father Ninian, who was by this time +close to him, ‘let me present to you Sir James Stewart, a captive +knight who is come to collect his ransom. I fell in with him on +the road, and as his road lay with mine, I made bold to assure him of +a welcome from your honoured father and Lord Malcolm.’</p> +<p>Patrick’s face cleared. It was no grace or beauty that +he feared in any stranger, but the sheer might and unright that their +Regency enabled the House of Albany to exercise over the orphans of +the royal family, whose head was absent; and a captive knight could +be no mischievous person. Still this might be only a specious +pretence to impose on the chaplain, and gain admittance to the castle; +and Patrick was resolved to be well on his guard, though he replied +courteously to the graceful bow with which the stranger greeted him, +saying in a manly mellow voice and southern accent, ‘I have been +bold enough to presume on the good father’s offer of hospitality, +Sir.’</p> +<p>‘You are welcome, Sir,’ returned Patrick, taking the +stranger’s bridle that he might dismount; ‘my father and +my cousin will gladly further on his way a prisoner seeking freedom.’</p> +<p>‘A captive may well be welcome, for the sake of one prisoner,’ +said his father, who had in the meantime come forward, and extended +his hand to the knight, who took it, and uncovering his bright locks, +respectfully said, ‘I am in the presence of the noble Tutor of +Glenuskie.’</p> +<p>‘Even so, Sir,’ returned Sir David Drummond, who was, +in fact, as his nephew’s guardian, usually known by this curious +title; ‘and you here see my wards, the Lord Malcolm and Lady Lilias. +Your knighthood will make allowances for the lad, he is but home-bred.’ +For while Lilias with stately grace responded to Sir James Stewart’s +courtly greeting, Malcolm bashfully made an awkward bow, and seemed +ready to shrink within himself, as, indeed, the brutal jests of his +rude cousins had made him dread and hate the eye of a stranger; and +while the knight was led forward to the hall fire, he merely pressed +up to the priest, and eagerly demanded under his breath, ‘Have +you brought me the book?’ but Father Ninian had only time to nod, +and sign that a volume was in his bosom, before old Sir David called +out, ‘What now, Malcolm, forgetting that your part is to come +and disarm the knight who does you the honour to be your guest?’ +And Sir Patrick rather roughly pushed him forward, gruffly whispering, +‘Leave not Lily to supply your lack of courtesy.’</p> +<p>Malcolm shambled forward, bewildered, as the keen auburn eye fell +on him, and the cheery kindly voice said, ‘Ha! a new book—a +romance? Well may that drive out other thoughts.’</p> +<p>‘Had he ears to hear such a whisper?’ thought Malcolm, +as he mumbled in the hoarse voice of bashful boyhood, ‘Not a romance, +Sir, but whatever the good fathers at Coldingham would lend me.’</p> +<p>‘It is the “Itinerarium” of the blessed Adamnanus,’ +replied Father Ninian, producing from his bosom a parcel, apparently +done up in many wrappers, a seal-skin above all.</p> +<p>‘The “Itinerarium”!’ exclaimed Sir James, +‘methought I had heard of such a book. I have a friend in +England who would give many a fair rose noble for a sight of it.’</p> +<p>‘A friend in England!’—the words had a sinister +sound to the audience, and while Malcolm jealously gathered up the book +into his arms, the priest made cold answer, that the book was the property +of the Monastery at Coldingham, and had only been lent to Lord Malcolm +Stewart by special favour. The guest could not help smiling, and +saying he was glad books were thus prized in Scotland; but at that moment, +as the sunny look shone on his face, and he stood before the fire in +the close suit of chamois leather which he wore under his armour, old +Sir David exclaimed, ‘Ha! never did I see such a likeness. +Patie, you should be old enough to remember; do you not see it?’</p> +<p>‘What should I see? Who is he like?’ asked Patrick, +surprised at his father’s manner.</p> +<p>‘Who?’ whispered Sir David in a lowered voice; ‘do +you not see it? to the unhappy lad, the Duke of Rothsay.’</p> +<p>Patrick could not help smiling, for he had been scarcely seven years +old at the time of the murder of the unfortunate Prince of Scotland; +but a flush of colour rose into the face of the guest, and he shortly +answered, ‘So I have been told;’ and then assuming a seat +near Sir David, he entered into conversation with him upon the condition +of Scotland at the period, inquiring into the state of many of the families +and districts by name. Almost always there was but one answer—murder—harrying—foray; +and when the question followed, ‘What had the Regent done?’ +there was a shrug of the shoulders, and as often Sir James’s face +flushed with a dark red fire, and his hand clenched at the hilt of the +sword by his side.</p> +<p>‘And is there not a man in Scotland left to strike for the +right?’ he demanded at last; ‘cannot nobles, clergy, and +burghers, band themselves in parliament to put down Albany and his bloody +house, and recall their true head?’</p> +<p>‘They love to have it so,’ returned Sir David sadly. +‘United, they might be strong enough; but each knows that his +fellow, Douglas, Lennox, March, or Mar, would be ready to play the same +game as Albany; and to raise a rival none will stir.’</p> +<p>‘And so,’ proceeded Sir James, bitterly, ‘the manhood +of Scotland goes forth to waste itself in an empty foreign war, merely +to keep France in as wretched a state of misrule as itself.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, nay, Sir,’ cried Patrick angrily, ‘it is +to save an ancient ally from the tyranny of our foulest foe. It +is the only place where a Scotsman can seek his fortune with honour, +and without staining his soul with foul deeds. Bring our King +home, and every sword shall be at his service.’</p> +<p>‘What, when they have all been lavished on the crazy Frenchman?’ +said Sir James.</p> +<p>‘No, Sir,’ said Patrick, rising in his vehemence; ‘when +they have been brightened there by honourable warfare, not tarnished +by home barbarities.’</p> +<p>‘He speaks truly,’ said Sir David; ‘and though +it will go to my heart to part with the lad, yet may I not say a word +to detain him in a land where the contagion of violence can scarce be +escaped by a brave man.’</p> +<p>Sir James gave a deep sigh as of pain, but as if to hinder its being +remarked, promptly answered, ‘That may be; but what is to be the +lot of a land whose honest men desert her cause as too evil for them, +and seek out another, that when seen closer is scarce less evil?’</p> +<p>‘How, Sir!’ cried Patrick; ‘you a prisoner of England, +yet speaking against our noble French allies, so foully trampled on?’</p> +<p>‘I have lived long enough in England,’ returned Sir James, +‘to think that land happiest where law is strong enough to enforce +peace and order.’</p> +<p>‘The coward loons!’ muttered Patrick, chiefly out of +the spirit of opposition.</p> +<p>‘You have been long in England, Sir?’ said Lilias, hoping +to direct the conversation into a more peaceful current.</p> +<p>‘Many years, fair lady,’ he replied, turning courteously +to her; ‘I was taken when I was a mere lad, but I have had gentle +captors, and no over harsh prison.’</p> +<p>‘And has no one ransomed you?’ she asked pitifully, as +one much moved by a certain patience on his brow, and in his sweet full +voice.</p> +<p>‘No one, lady. My uncle was but too willing that the +heir should be kept aloof; and it is only now he is dead, that I have +obtained leave from my friendly captor to come in search of my ransom.’</p> +<p>Lilias would have liked to know the amount, but it was not manners +to ask, since the rate of ransom was the personal value of the knight; +and her uncle put in the question, who was his keeper.</p> +<p>‘The Earl of Somerset,’ rather hastily answered Sir James; +and then at once Lilias exclaimed, ‘Ah, Uncle, is not the King, +too, in his charge?’ And then questions crowded on. +‘What like is the King? How brooks he his durance? +What freedom hath he? What hope is there of his return? +Can he brook to hear of his people’s wretchedness?’</p> +<p>This was the first question at which Sir James attempted to unclose +his hitherto smiling and amused lip. Then it quivered, and the +dew glittered in his eyes as he answered, ‘Brook it! No +indeed, lady. His heart burns within him at every cry that comes +over the Border, and will well-nigh burst at what I have seen and heard! +King Harry tells him that to send him home were but tossing him on the +swords of the Albany. Better, better so, to die in one grapple +for his country’s sake, than lie bound, hearing her bitter wails, +and unable to stir for her redress!’ and as he dashed the indignant +tear from his eyes, Patrick caught his hand.</p> +<p>‘Your heart is in the right place, friend,’ he said; +‘I look on you as an honest man and brother in arms from this +moment.’</p> +<p>‘’Tis a bargain,’ said Sir James, the smile returning, +and his eyes again glistening as he wrung Sir Patrick’s hand. +‘When the hour comes for the true rescue of Scotland, we will +strike together.’</p> +<p>‘And you will tell the King,’ added Patrick, ‘that +here are true hearts, and I could find many more, only longing to fence +him from the Albany swords, about which King Harry is so good as to +fash himself.’</p> +<p>‘But what like is the King?’ asked Lilias eagerly. +‘Oh, I would fain see him. Is it true that he was the tallest +man at King Harry’s sacring? more shame that he were there!’</p> +<p>‘He and I are much of a height, lady,’ returned the knight. +‘Maybe I may give you the justest notion of him by saying that +I am said to be his very marrow.’</p> +<p>‘That explains your likeness to the poor Duke,’ said +Sir David, satisfied; ‘and you too count kindred with our royal +house, methinks?’</p> +<p>‘I am sprung from Walter the Stewart, so much I know; my lands +lie Carrick-wards,’ said Sir James lightly, ‘but I have +been a prisoner so long, that the pedigree of my house was never taught +me, and I can make no figure in describing my own descent.’ +And as though to put an end to the inquiry, he walked to the window, +where Malcolm so soon as they had begun to talk of the misrule of Scotland, +had ensconced himself in the window-seat with his new book, making the +most of the failing light, and asked him whether the Monk of Iona equalled +his expectations.</p> +<p>Malcolm was not easy to draw out at first, but it presently appeared +that he had been baffled by a tough bit of Latinity. The knight +looked, and readily expounded the sentence, so that all became plain; +and then, as it was already too dark to pursue the study with comfort, +he stood over the boy, talking to him of books and of poems, while the +usually pale, listless, uninterested countenance responded by looks +of eager delight and flushing colour.</p> +<p>It seemed as though each were equally pleased with the other: Sir +James, at finding so much knowledge and understanding in a Scottish +castle; and Malcolm, at, for the first time, meeting anything but contempt +for his tastes from aught but an ecclesiastic.</p> +<p>Their talk continued till they were summoned to supper, which had +been somewhat delayed to provide for the new-comers. It was a +simple enough meal, suited to Lent, and was merely of dried fish, with +barley bread and kail brose; but there were few other places in Scotland +where it would have been served with so much of the refinement that +Sir David Drummond and his late wife had learnt in France. A tablecloth +and napkins, separate trenchers, and water for hand cleansing, were +not always to be found in the houses of the nobles; and in fact, there +were those who charged Malcolm’s delicacy and timidity on the +<i>nisété</i> or folly of his effeminate education; the +having the rushes on the floor frequently changed, the preference of +lamps for pine torches, and the not keeping falcons, dogs, swine, and +all, pell mell in the great hall.</p> +<p>Lilias sat between her uncle and his guest, looking so fair and bright +that Patrick felt fresh accesses of angry jealousy, while the visitor +talked as one able to report to the natives from another world, and +that world the hateful England, which as a Scotsman he was bound to +abhor. Had it been France, it had been endurable, but praise of +English habits was mere disloyalty; and yet, whenever Patrick tried +to throw in a disparaging word, he found himself met with a quiet superiority +such as he had believed no knight in Scotland could assume with him, +and still it was neither brow-beating nor insolence, nothing that could +give offence.</p> +<p>Malcolm begged to know whether there had not been a rare good poet +in England, called Chaucer. Verily there had been, said the knight; +and on a little solicitation, so soon as supper was over, he recited +to the eager and delighted auditors the tale of patient Grisel, as rendered +by Chaucer, calling forth eager comments from both Patrick and Lily, +on the unknightliness of the Marquis. Malcolm, however, added, +‘Yet, after all, she was but a mere peasant wench.’</p> +<p>‘What makes that, young Sir?’ replied Sir James gravely. +‘I would have you to know that the husband’s rank is the +wife’s, and the more unequal were their lot before, the more is +he bound to respect her, and to make her be respected.’</p> +<p>‘That may be, after the deed is done,’ said Sir David, +in a warning voice; ‘but it is not well that like should not match +with like. Many an evil have I seen in my time, from unequal mating.’</p> +<p>‘And, Sir,’ eagerly exclaimed Patrick, ‘no doubt +you can gainsay the slander, that our noble King has been caught in +the toils of an artful Englishwoman, and been drawn in to promise her +a share in his crown.’</p> +<p>A flush of crimson flamed forth on Sir James Stewart’s cheeks, +and his tawny eye glanced with a fire like red lightning, but he seemed, +as it were, to be holding himself in, and answered with a voice forcibly +kept low and calm, and therefore the more terribly stern, ‘Young +Sir, I warn you to honour your future queen.’</p> +<p>Sir David made a gesture with his hand, enforcing restraint upon +his son, and turning to Sir James, said, ‘Our queen will we honour, +when such she is, Sir; but if you are returning to the King, it were +well that he should know that our hot Scottish bloods, here, could scarce +brook an English alliance, and certainly not one beneath his birth.’</p> +<p>‘The King would answer, Sir,’ returned Sir James, haughtily, +but with recovered command over himself, ‘that it is for him to +judge whom his subjects shall brook as their queen. Moreover,’ +he added, in a different and more conciliatory voice, ‘Scotsmen +must be proud indeed who disdain the late King’s niece, the great-granddaughter +of King Edward III., and as noble and queenly a demoiselle as ever was +born in a palace.’</p> +<p>‘She is so very fair, then?’ said Lilies, who was of +course on the side of true love. ‘You have seen her, gentle +Sir? Oh, tell us what are her beauties?’</p> +<p>‘Fair damsel,’ said Sir James, in a much more gentle +tone, ‘you forget that I am only a poor prisoner, who have only +now and then viewed the lady Joan Beaufort with distant reverence, as +destined to be my queen. All I can tell is, that her walk and +bearing mark her out for a throne.’</p> +<p>‘And oh!’ cried Malcolm, ‘is it not true that the +King hath composed songs and poems in her honour?’</p> +<p>‘Pah!’ muttered Patrick; ‘as though the King would +be no better than a wandering minstrel rhymester!’</p> +<p>‘Or than King David!’ dryly said Sir James.</p> +<p>‘It is true, then, Sir,’ exclaimed Lilias. ‘He +doth verily add minstrelsy to his other graces? Know you the lines, +Sir? Can you sing them to us? Oh, I pray you.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, fair maid,’ returned Sir James, ‘methinks +I might but add to the scorn wherewith Sir Patrick is but too much inclined +to regard the captive King.’</p> +<p>‘A captive, a captive—ay, minstrelsy is the right solace +for a captive,’ said Patrick; ‘at least, so they say and +sing. Our king will have better work when he gains his freedom. +Only there will come before me a subtilty I once saw in jelly and blanc-mange, +at a banquet in France, where a lion fell in love with a hunter’s +daughter, and let her, for love’s sake, draw his teeth and clip +his claws, whereupon he found himself made a sport for her father’s +hounds.’</p> +<p>‘I promise you, Sir Patrick,’ replied the guest, ‘that +the Lady Joan is more hike to send her Lion forth from the hunter’s +toils, with claws and teeth fresh-whetted by the desire of honour.</p> +<p>‘But the lay—the hay, Sir,’ entreated Lilias; ‘who +knows that it may not win Patrick to be the Lady Joan’s devoted +servant? Malcolm, your harp!’</p> +<p>Malcolm had already gone in quest of the harp he loved all the better +for the discouragement thrown on his gentle tastes.</p> +<p>The knight leant back, with a pensive look softening his features +as he said, after a little consideration, ‘Then, fair lady, I +will sing you the song made by King James, when he had first seen the +fair mistress of his heart, on the slopes of Windsor, looking from his +chamber window. He feigns her to be a nightingale.’</p> +<p>‘And what is that, Sir?’ demanded Lilias. ‘I +have heard the word in romances, and deemed it a kind of angel that +sings by night.’</p> +<p>‘It is a bird, sister,’ replied Malcolm; ‘Philomel, +that pierces her breast with a thorn, and sings sweetly even to her +death.’</p> +<p>‘That’s mere minstrel leasing, Malcolm,’ said Patrick. +‘I have both seen and heard the bird in France—<i>Rossignol</i>, +as we call it there; and were I a lady, I should deem it small compliment +to be likened to a little russet-backed, homely fowl such as that.’</p> +<p>‘While I,’ replied the prisoner, ‘feel so much +with your fair sister, that nightingales are a sort of angels that sing +by night, that it pains me, when I think of winning my freedom, to remember +that I shall never again hear their songs answering one another through +the forest of Windsor.’</p> +<p>Patrick shrugged his shoulders, but Lilias was so anxious to hear +the lay, that she entreated him to be silent; and Sir James, with a +manly mellow voice, with an exceedingly sweet strain in it, and a skill, +both of modulation and finger, such as showed admirable taste and instruction, +poured forth that beautiful song of the nightingale at Windsor, which +commences King James’s story of his love, in his poem of the King’s +Quhair.</p> +<p>There was an eager pressing round to hear, and not only were Lilias +and Malcolm, but old Sir David himself, much affected by the strain, +which the latter said put him in mind of the days of King Robert III., +which, sad as they were, now seemed like good old times, so much worse +was the present state of affairs. Sir James, however, seemed anxious +to prevent discussion of the verses he had sung, and applied to Malcolm +to give a specimen of his powers: and thus, with music, ballad, and +lay, the evening passed away, till the parting cup was sent round, and +the Tutor of Glenuskie and Malcolm marshalled their guest to the apartment +where he was to sleep, in a wainscoted box bedstead, and his two attendant +squires, a great iron-gray Scot and a rosy honest-faced Englishman, +on pallets on the floor.</p> +<p>In the morning he went on his journey, but not without an invitation +to rest there again on his way back, whether with or without his ransom. +He promised to come, saying that he should gladly bear to the King the +last advices from one so honoured as the Tutor of Glenuskie; and, on +their sides, Malcolm and Sir David resolved to do their best to have +some gold pieces to contribute, rather than so ‘proper a knight’ +should fail in raising his ransom; but gold was never plenty, and Patrick +needed all that his uncle could supply, to bear him to those wars in +France, where he looked for renown and fortune.</p> +<p>For these were, as may have been gathered, those evil days when James +I. of Scotland was still a captive to England, and when the House of +Albany exercised its cruel misrule upon Scotland; delaying to ransom +the King, lest they should bring home a master.</p> +<p>Old Robert of Albany had been King Stork, his son Murdoch was King +Log; and the misery was infinitely increased by the violence and lawlessness +of Murdoch’s sons. King Robert II. had left Scotland the +fearful legacy of, as Froissart says, ‘eleven sons who loved arms.’ +Of these, Robert III. was the eldest, the Duke of Albany the second. +These were both dead, and were represented, the one by the captive young +King James, the other by the Regent, Duke Murdoch of Albany, and his +brother John, Earl of Buchan, now about to head a Scottish force, among +whom Patrick Drummond intended to sail, to assist the French.</p> +<p>Others of the eleven, Earls of Athol, Menteith, &c., survived; +but the youngest of the brotherhood, by name Malcolm, who had married +the heiress of Glenuskie, had been killed at Homildon Hill, when he +had solemnly charged his Stewart nephews and brothers to leave his two +orphan children to the sole charge of their mother’s cousin, Sir +David Drummond, a good old man, who had been the best supporter and +confidant of poor Robert III. in his unhappy reign, and in embassies +to France had lost much of the rugged barbarism to which Scotland had +retrograded during the wars with England.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II: THE RESCUE OF COLDINGHAM</h2> +<p>It was a lonely tract of road, marked only by the bare space trodden +by feet of man and horse, and yet, in truth, the highway between Berwick +and Edinburgh, which descended from a heathery moorland into a somewhat +spacious valley, with copsewood clothing one side, in the midst of which +rose a high mound or knoll, probably once the site of a camp, for it +still bore lines of circumvallation, although it was entirely deserted, +except by the wandering shepherds of the neighbourhood, or occasionally +by outlaws, who found an admirable ambush in the rear.</p> +<p>The spring had hung the hazels with tassels, bedecked the willows +with golden downy tufts, and opened the primroses and celandines beneath +them, when the solitary dale was disturbed by the hasty clatter of horses’ +feet, and hard, heavy breathing as of those who had galloped headlong +beyond their strength. Here, however, the foremost of the party, +an old esquire, who grasped the bridle-rein of youth by his side, drew +up his own horse, and that which he was dragging on with him, saying—</p> +<p>‘We may breathe here a moment; there is shelter in the wood. +And you, Rab, get ye up to the top of Jill’s Knowe, and keep a +good look-out.’</p> +<p>‘Let me go back, you false villain!’ sobbed the boy, +with the first use of his recovered breath.</p> +<p>‘Do not be so daft, Lord Malcolm,’ replied the Squire, +retaining his hold on the boy’s bridle; ‘what, rin your +head into the wolf’s mouth again, when we’ve barely brought +you off haill and sain?’</p> +<p>‘Haill and sain? Dastard and forlorn,’ cried Malcolm, +with passionate weeping. ‘I—I to flee and leave my +sister—my uncle! Oh, where are they? Halbert, let +me go; I’ll never pardon thee.’</p> +<p>‘Hoot, my lord! would I let you gang, when the Tutor spak to +me as plain as I hear you now? “Take off Lord Malcolm,” +says he; “save him, and you save the rest. See him safe +to the Earl of Mar.” Those were his words, my lord; and +if you wilna heed them, I will.’</p> +<p>‘What, and leave my sister to the reivers? Oh, what may +not they be doing to her? Let us go back and fall on them, Halbert; +better die saving her than know her in Walter Stewart’s hands. +Then were I the wretched craven he calls me.’</p> +<p>‘Look you, Lord Malcolm,’ said Halbert, laying his finger +on his nose, with a knowing expression, ‘my young lady is safe +from harm so long as you are out of the Master of Albany’s reach. +Had you come by a canny thrust in the fray, as no doubt was his purpose, +or were you in his hands to be mewed in a convent, then were your sister +worth the wedding; but the Master will never wed her while you live +and have friends to back you, and his father, the Regent, will see she +has no ill-usage. You’ll do best for yourself and her too, +as well as Sir David, if you make for Dunbar, and call ben your uncles +of Athole and Strathern.—How now, Rab? are the loons making this +way?’</p> +<p>‘Na, na!’ said Rab, descending; ‘’tis from +the other gate; ’tis a knight in blue damasked steel: he, methinks, +that harboured in our castle some weeks syne.’</p> +<p>‘Hm!’ said Halbert, considering; ‘he looked like +a trusty cheild: maybe he’d guide my lord here to a wiser wit, +and a good lance on the way to Dunbar is not to be scorned.’</p> +<p>In fact, there would have been no time for one party to conceal themselves +from the other; for, hidden by the copsewood, and unheeded by the watchers +who were gazing in the opposite direction, Sir James Stewart and his +two attendants suddenly came round the foot of Jill’s Knowe upon +the fugitives, who were profiting by the interval to loosen the girths +of their horses, and water them at the pool under the thicket, whilst +Halbert in vain tried to pacify and reason with the young master, who +had thrown himself on the grass in an agony of grief and despair. +Sir James, after the first momentary start, recognized the party in +an instant, and at once leapt from his horse, exclaiming—</p> +<p>‘How now, my bonnie man—my kind host—what is it? +what makes this grief?’</p> +<p>‘Do not speak to me, Sir,’ muttered the unhappy boy. +‘They have been reft—reft from me, and I have done nothing +for them. Walter of Albany has them, and I am here.’</p> +<p>And he gave way to another paroxysm of grief, while Halbert explained +to Sir James Stewart that when Sir Patrick Drummond had gone to embark +for France, with the army led to the aid of Charles VI. by the Earl +of Buchan, his father and cousins, with a large escort, had accompanied +him to Eyemouth; whence, after taking leave of him, they had set out +to spend Passion-tide and Easter at Coldingham Abbey, after the frequent +fashion of the devoutly inclined among the Scottish nobility, in whose +castles there was often little commodity for religious observances. +Short, however, as was the distance, they had in the midst of it been +suddenly assailed by a band of armed men, among whom might easily be +recognized the giant form of young Walter Stewart, the Master of Albany, +the Regent Duke Murdoch’s eldest son, who was well known for his +lawless excesses and violence. His father’s silky sayings, +and his own ruder speeches, had long made it known to the House of Glenuskie +that the family policy was to cajole or to drive the sickly heir into +a convent, and, rendering Lilias the possessor of the broad lands inherited +from both parents, unite her and them to the Albany family.</p> +<p>The almost barbarous fierceness and wild licentiousness of Walter +would have made the arrangement abhorrent to Lilias, even had not love +passages already passed between her and her cousin, Patrick Drummond, +and Sir David had hitherto protected her by keeping Malcolm in the secular +life; but Walter, it seemed, had grown impatient, and had made this +treacherous attack, evidently hoping to rid himself of the brother, +and secure the sister. No sooner had the Tutor of Glenuskie perceived +that his own party were overmatched, than he had bidden his faithful +squire to secure the bairns—if not both, at least the boy; and +Halbert, perceiving that Lilias had already been pounced upon by Sir +Walter himself and several more, seized the bridle of the bewildered +Malcolm, who was still trying to draw his sword, and had absolutely +swept him away from the scene of action before he had well realized +what was passing; and now that the poor lad understood the whole, his +horror, grief, and shame were unspeakable.</p> +<p>Before Sir James had done more than hear the outline of Halbert’s +tale, however, the watchers on the mound gave the signal that the reivers +were coming that way—a matter hitherto doubtful, since no one +could guess whether Walter Stewart would make for Edinburgh or for Doune. +With the utmost agility Sir James sprang up the side of the mound, reconnoitred, +and returned again just as Halbert was trying to stir his master from +the ground, and Malcolm answering sullenly that he would not move—he +would be taken and die with the rest.</p> +<p>‘You may save them instead, if you will attend to me,’ +said Sir James; and at his words the boy suddenly started up with a +look of hope.</p> +<p>‘How many fell upon you?’ demanded Sir James.</p> +<p>‘Full a hundred lances,’ replied Halbert (and a lance +meant at least three men). ‘It wad be a fule’s wark +to withstand them. Best bide fast in the covert, for our horses +are sair forfaughten.’</p> +<p>‘If there are now more than twenty lances, I am greatly mistaken,’ +returned Sir James. ‘They must have broken up after striking +their blow, or have sent to secure Glenuskie; and we, falling on them +from this thicket—’</p> +<p>‘I see, I see,’ cried Halbert. ‘Back, ye +loons; back among the hazels. Hold every one his horse ready to +mount.’</p> +<p>‘With your favour, Sir Squire, I say, bind each man his horse +to a tree. The skene and broadsword, which I see you all wear, +will be ten times as effective on foot.’</p> +<p>‘Do as the knight bids,’ said Malcolm, starting forth +with colour on his cheek, light in his eye, that made him another being. +‘In him there is help.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, ay, Lord Malcolm,’ muttered Halbert; ‘you +need not tell me that: I know my duty better than not to do the bidding +of a belted knight, and pretty man too of his inches.’</p> +<p>The two attendants of Sir James were meantime apparently uttering +some remonstrance, to which he lightly replied, ‘Tut, Nigel; it +will do thine heart good to hew down a minion of Albany. What +were I worth could I not strike a blow against so foul a wrong to my +own orphan kindred? Brewster, I’ll answer it to thy master. +These are his foes, as well as those of all honest men. Ha! thou +art as glad to be at them as I myself.’</p> +<p>By this time he had exchanged his cap for a steel helmet, and was +assuming the command as his natural right, as he placed the men in their +ambush behind the knoll, received reports from those he had set to watch, +and concerted the signal with Halbert and his own followers. Malcolm +kept by him, shivering with intense excitement and eagerness; and thus +they waited till the horses’ hoofs and clank of armour were distinctly +audible. But even then Sir James, with outstretched hand, signed +his followers back, and kept them in the leash, as it were, until the +troop was fairly in the valley, those in front beginning to halt to +give their horses water. They were, in effect, riding somewhat +carelessly, and with the ease of men whose feat was performed, and who +expected no more opposition. Full in the midst was Lilias, entirely +muffled and pinioned by a large plaid drawn closely round her, and held +upon the front of the saddle of a large tall horse, ridden by a slender, +light-limbed, wiry groom, whom Malcolm knew as Christopher Hall, a retainer +of the Duke of Albany; and beside him rode her captor, Sir Walter Stewart, +a man little above twenty, but with a bronzed, hardened, reckless expression +that made him look much older, and of huge height and giant build. +Malcolm knew him well, and regarded him with unmitigated horror and +dread, both from the knowledge of his ruffianly violence even towards +his father, from fear of his intentions, and from the misery that his +brutal jests, scoffs, and practical jokes had often personally inflicted: +and the sight of his sister in the power of this wicked man was the +realization of all his worst fears. But ere there was time for +more than one strong pang of consternation and constitutional terror, +Sir James’s shout of ‘St. Andrew for the right!’ was +ringing out, echoed by all the fifteen in ambush with him, as simultaneously +they leapt forward. Malcolm, among the first, darting with one +spring, as it were, to the horse where his sister was carried, seized +the bridle with his left hand, and flashing his sword upon the ruffian +with the other, shouted, ‘Let go, villain; give me my sister!’ +Hall’s first impulse was to push his horse forward so as to trample +the boy down, but Malcolm’s hold rendered this impossible; besides, +there was the shouting, the clang, the confusion of the outburst of +an ambush all around and on every side, and before the man could free +his hand to draw his weapon he necessarily loosed his grasp of Lilias, +who, half springing, half falling, came to the ground, almost overthrowing +her brother in her descent, but just saved by him from coming down prostrate. +The horse, suddenly released, started forward with its rider and at +the same moment Malcolm, recovering himself, stood with his sword in +his hand, his arm round his sister’s waist, assuring her that +she was safe, and himself glowing for the first time with manly exultation. +Had he not saved and rescued her himself?</p> +<p>It was as well, however, that the rescue did not depend on his sole +prowess. Indeed, by the time the brother and sister were clinging +together and turning to look round, the first shock was over, and the +retainers of Albany, probably fancying the attack made by a much larger +troop, were either in full flight, or getting decidedly the worst in +their encounters with their assailants.</p> +<p>Sir James Stewart had at the first onset sprung like a lion upon +the Master of Albany, and without drawing his sword had grappled with +him. ‘In the name of St. Andrew and the King, yield thy +prey, thou dastard,’ were his words as he threw his arms round +the body of Sir Walter, and exerted his full strength to drag him from +his horse. The young giant writhed, struggled, cursed, raged; +he had not space to draw sword or even dagger, but he struck furiously +with his gauntleted hand, strove to drive his horse forward. The +struggle like that of Hercules and Antæus, so desperate and mighty +was the strength put forth on either side, but nothing could unclasp +the iron grip of those sinewy arms, and almost as soon as Malcolm and +Lilias had eyes to see what was passing, Walter Stewart was being dragged +off his horse by that tremendous grapple, and the next moment his armour +rung as he lay prostrate on his back upon the ground.</p> +<p>His conqueror set his mailed foot upon his neck lightly, but so as +to prevent any attempt to rise, and after one moment’s pause to +gather breath, said in a clear deep trumpet voice, ‘Walter Stewart +of Albany, on one condition I grant thee thy life. It is that +thou take the most solemn oath on the spot that no spulzie or private +brawl shall henceforth stain that hand of thine while thy father holds +the power in Scotland. Take that oath, thou livest: refuse it, +and—’ He held up the deadly little dagger called the +misericorde.</p> +<p>‘And who art thou, caitiff land-louper,’ muttered Walter, +‘to put to oath knights and princes?’</p> +<p>The knight raised the visor of his helmet. The evening sun +shone resplendently on his damasked blue armour and the St. Andrew’s +cross on his breast, and lighted up that red fire that lurked in his +eyes, and withal the calm power and righteous indignation on his features +might have befitted an avenging angel wielding the lightning.</p> +<p>‘Thou wilt know me when we meet again,’ was all he said; +and for the very calmness of the voice the Master of Albany, who was +but a mere commonplace insolent ruffian, quailed with awe and terror +to the very backbone.</p> +<p>‘Loose me, and I will swear,’ he faintly murmured.</p> +<p>Sir James, before removing his foot, unclasped his gorget, and undoing +a chain, held up a jewel shaped like a St. Andrew’s cross, with +a diamond in the midst, covering a fragmentary relic. At the sight +Walter Stewart’s eyes, large pale ones, dilated as if with increased +consternation, the sweat started on his forehead, and his breath came +in shorter gasps. Malcolm and Lilias, standing near, likewise +felt a sense of strange awe, for they too had heard of this relic, a +supposed fragment of St. Andrew’s own instrument of martyrdom, +which had belonged to St. Margaret, and had been thought a palladium +to the royal family and House of Stewart.</p> +<p>‘Rise on thy knees,’ said Sir James, now taking away +his foot, ‘and swear upon this.’</p> +<p>Walter, completely cowed and overawed, rose to his knees at his victor’s +command, laid his hand on the relic, and in a shaken, almost tremulous +voice, repeated the words of the oath after his dictation: ‘I, +Walter Stewart, Master of Albany, hereby swear to God and St. Andrew, +to fight in no private brawl, to spoil no man nor woman, to oppress +no poor man, clerk, widow, maid, or orphan, to abstain from all wrong +or spulzie from this hour until the King shall come again in peace.’</p> +<p>He uttered the words, and kissed the jewel that was tendered to him; +and then Sir James said, in the same cold and dignified tone, ‘Let +thine oath be sacred, or beware. Now, mount and go thy way, but +take heed <i>how</i> I meet thee again.’</p> +<p>Sir Walter’s horse was held for him by Brewster, the knight’s +English attendant, and without another word he flung himself into the +saddle, and rode away to join such of his followers as were waiting +dispersed at a safe distance to mark his fate, but without attempting +anything for his assistance.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Sir!’ burst forth Malcolm; but then, even as he +was about to utter his thanks, his eye sought for the guardian who had +ever been his mouthpiece, and, with a sudden shriek of dismay, he cried, +‘My uncle! where is he? where is Sir David?’</p> +<p>‘Alack! alack!’ cried Lilias. ‘Oh, brother, +I saw him on the ground; he fell before my horse. I saw no more, +for the Master held me, and muffled my face. Oh, let us back, +he may yet live.’</p> +<p>‘Yea, let us back,’ said Sir James, ‘if we may +yet save the good old man. Those villains will not dare to follow; +or if they do, Nigel—Brewster, you understand guarding the rear.’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ began Lilias, ‘how can we thank—’</p> +<p>‘Not at all, lady,’ replied Sir James, smiling; ‘you +will do better to take your seat; I fear it must be <i>en croupe</i>, +for we can scarce dismount one of your guards.’</p> +<p>‘She shall ride behind me,’ said Malcolm, in a more alert +and confident voice than had ever been heard from him before.</p> +<p>‘Ay, right,’ said Sir James, placing a kind hand on his +shoulder; ‘thou hast won her back by thine own exploit, and mayst +well have the keeping of her. That rush on the caitiff groom was +well and shrewdly done.’</p> +<p>And for all Malcolm’s anxiety for his uncle, his heart had +never given such a leap as at finding himself suddenly raised from the +depressed down-trodden coward into something like manhood and self-respect.</p> +<p>Lilias, who, like most damsels of her time, was hardy and active, +saw no difficulties in the mode of conveyance, and, so soon as Malcolm +had seated himself on horseback, she placed one foot upon his toe, and +with a spring of her own, assisted by Sir James’s well-practised +hand, was instantly perched on the crupper, clasping her brother round +the waist with her arms, and laying her head on his shoulder in loving +pride at his exploit, while for her further security Sir James threw +round them both the long plaid that had so lately bound her.</p> +<p>‘Dear Malcolm’—and her whisper fell sweetly on +his ear—‘it will be bonnie tidings for Patie that thou didst +loose me all thyself. The false tyrant, to fall on us the very +hour Patie was on the salt sea.’</p> +<p>But they were riding so fast that there was scant possibility for +words; and, besides, Sir James kept too close to them for private whispers. +In about an hour’s time they had crossed the bit of table-land +that formed the moor, and descended into another little gorge, which +was the place where the attack had been made upon the travellers.</p> +<p>This was where it was possible that they might find Sir David; but +no trace was to be seen, except that the grass was trampled and stained +with blood. Perhaps, both Lilias and old Halbert suggested, some +of their people had returned and taken him to the Abbey of Coldingham, +and as this was by far the safest lodging and refuge for her and her +brother, the horses’ heads were at once turned thitherwards.</p> +<p>The grand old Priory of Coldingham, founded by King Edgar, son of +Margaret the Saint, and of Malcolm Ceanmohr, in testimony of his gratitude +for his recovery of his father’s throne from the usurper Donaldbane, +was a Benedictine monastery under the dominion of the great central +Abbey of Durham.</p> +<p>It had been a great favourite with the Scottish kings of that glorious +dynasty which sprung from Margaret of Wessex, and had ample estates, +which, when it was in good hands, enabled it to supply the manifold +purposes of an ecclesiastical school, a model farm, a harbour for travellers, +and a fortified castle. At this period, the Prior, John de Akecliff, +or Oakcliff, was an excellent man, a great friend of Sir David Drummond, +and much disliked and persecuted by the House of Albany, so that there +was little doubt that this would be the first refuge thought of by Sir +David’s followers.</p> +<p>Accordingly Malcolm and his companions rode up to the chief gateway, +a grand circular archway, with all the noble though grotesque mouldings, +zigzag and cable, dog-tooth and parrot-beak, visages human and diabolic, +wherewith the Norman builders loved to surround their doorways. +The doors were of solid oak, heavily guarded with iron, and from a little +wicket in the midst peered out a cowled head, and instantly ensued the +exclamation—</p> +<p>‘Benedicite! Welcome, my Lord Malcolm! Ah! but +this will ease the heart of the Tutor of Glenuskie!’</p> +<p>‘Ah! then he is here?’ cried Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘Here, Sir, but in woful plight; borne in an hour syne by four +carles who said you had been set upon by the Master of Albany, and sair +harried, and they say the Tutor doth nought but wail for his bairns. +How won ye out of his hands, my Lord?’</p> +<p>‘Thanks to this good knight,’ said Malcolm; and the gate +was opened, and the new-comers dismounted to pass under the archway, +which taught humility. A number of the brethren met them as they +came forth into the first quadrangle, surrounded by a beautiful cloister, +and containing what was called Edgar’s Walls, a house raised by +the good founder, for his own lodging and that of visitors, within the +monastery. It was a narrow building, about thirty feet from the +church, was perfectly familiar to Malcolm, who bent his steps at once +thither, among the congratulations of the monks; and Lilias was not +prevented from accompanying him thus far within the convent, but all +beyond the nave of the church was forbidden ground to her sex, though +the original monastery destroyed by the Danes had been one of the double +foundations for monks and nuns.</p> +<p>Entering the building, the brother and sister hastily crossed a sort +of outer hall to a chamber where Sir David lay on his bed, attended +by the Prior Akecliff and the Infirmarer. The glad tidings had +already reached him, and he held out his hands, kissed and blessed his +restored charges, and gave thanks with all his heart; but there was +a strange wanness upon his face, and a spasm of severe pain crossed +him more than once, though, as Lilias eagerly asked after his hurts, +he called them nothing, since he had her safe again, and then bade Malcolm +summon the captive knight that he might thank him.</p> +<p>Sir James Stewart had been left in the hall without, to the hospitality +of the monks; he had laid aside his helmet, washed his face, and arranged +his bright locks, and as he rose to follow Malcolm, his majestic stature +and bearing seemed to befit the home of the old Scottish King.</p> +<p>As he entered the chamber, Sir David slightly raised himself on the +pillow, and, with his eyes dilating into a bewildered gaze, exclaimed, +‘My liege, my dear master!’</p> +<p>‘He raves,’ sighed Lilias, clasping Malcolm’s hand +in dire distress.</p> +<p>‘No,’ muttered the sick man, sinking back. ‘Good +King Robert has been in his grave many a day; his sons, woe is me!—Sir,’ +recovering himself, ‘pardon the error of an old dying man, who +owes you more than he can express.’</p> +<p>‘Then, Sir,’ said James Stewart, ‘grant me the +favour of a few moments’ private speech with you. I will +not keep you long from him,’ he added to Malcolm and Lilias.</p> +<p>His manner was never one to be disputed, there was an atmosphere +of obedience about the whole monastery, and the Prior added—</p> +<p>‘Yes, my children, it is but fitting that you should give thanks +in the church for your unlooked-for deliverance.’</p> +<p>Malcolm was forced to lead Lilias away into the exquisite cross church, +built in the loveliest Early English style, of which a few graceful +remnants still exist. The two young things knelt together hand +in hand in the lornness of their approaching desolation, neither of +them having dared to utter the foreboding upon their hearts, but feeling +it all the more surely; and while the sister’s spirit longed fervently +after him whose protection had been only just removed, the brother looked +up to the sheltering vaults, lost in the tranquil twilight, and felt +that here alone was his haven of peace, the refuge for the feeble and +the fatherless.</p> +<p>Their devotions performed, they ventured back to the outer hall, +and on their return being notified, they were again admitted. +Sir James, who had been seated on a stool by the sick man’s head, +immediately rose and resigned his place to Lilias, but did not leave +the room and Sir David thus spoke: ‘Bairns, God in His mercy hath +raised you up the best of guardians in the stead of your ain poor Tutor. +Malcolm, laddie, you will ride the morn with this gentleman to the true +head of your name, your ain King, whom God for ever bless!’ +His voice quivered. ‘And be it your study so to profit by +his example and nurture, as to do your devoir by him for ever.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, father,’ cried Malcolm, ‘I cannot leave you +and Lily.’</p> +<p>‘If you call me father, do my bidding,’ said Sir David. +‘Lily can be safely bestowed with the good Sisters of St. Abbs, +nor while you are out of Albany’s reach is the poor lassie worth +his molesting; but when I am gone, your uncles of Albany and Athole +become your tutors, and the Prior has no power to save you. Only +over the Border with the King is there safety from them, and your ruin +is the ruin of your sister.’</p> +<p>‘And,’ added Sir James, ‘when the King is at liberty, +or when you yourself are of age, you will return to resume the charge +of your fair sister, unless some nearer protector be found. Meantime,’ +he laid one hand on Malcolm’s head, and with the other took out +the relic which had had so great an effect upon Walter Stewart, ‘I +swear on this holy Rood of St. Andrew, that Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie +shall be my charge, not merely as my kinsman, but as my young brother.’</p> +<p>‘You hear, Malcolm,’ said Sir David. ‘You +will strive to merit such goodness.’</p> +<p>‘Father,’ broke out the poor boy again, ‘you cannot +mean to part us! Let us abide as we have been till I am of age +to take my vows! I am not fit to serve the King.’</p> +<p>‘He is the best judge of that,’ returned Sir James.</p> +<p>‘And,’ added Sir David, ‘I tell you, lad, that +I shall never be as I was before, and that were I a whole man and sain, +riding back to Glenuskie the morn, I should still bless the saints and +bid you gang.’</p> +<p>Rarely did the youth of the fifteenth century venture to question +the authority of an elder, but Malcolm was only silenced for a moment, +and though by no means understanding that his guardian believed his +injuries mortal, he threw himself upon the advice of the Prior, whom +he entreated to allow him to judge for himself, and to remain to protect +his sister—he talked boldly of protecting her after this day’s +exploit. But Prior Akecliff gave him no more encouragement than +did his uncle. The Benedictine vows were out of the question till +he should be eighteen, and the renunciation of the world they involved +would be ruinous to Lilias, since she would become his heiress. +Moreover, the Prior himself was almost in a state of siege, for the +Regent was endeavouring to intrude on the convent one Brother William +Drake, or Drax, by his own nomination, instead of the canonical appointment +emanating from Durham, and as national feeling went with the Regent’s +nominee, it was by no means certain that the present Prior would be +able to maintain his position.</p> +<p>‘Oh, go! yes, go, dear brother,’ entreated Lilias. +‘I should be far happier to know you in safety. They cannot +hurt me while you are safe.’</p> +<p>‘But you, Lily! What if this villain Drax have his way?’</p> +<p>‘He could not harm her in St. Ebba’s fold,’ returned +the Prior. ‘The Abbess herself could not yield her; and, +as you have so often been told, my young Lord, your absence is a far +greater protection to your sister than your presence. Moreover, +were the Tutor’s mind at rest, there would be far better hope +of his recovery.’</p> +<p>There was no alternative, and Malcolm could not but submit. +Lilias was to be conducted before daybreak to the monastery of St. Abbs, +about six miles off, whence she could be summoned at any time to be +with her uncle in Coldingham; and Malcolm was to set off at daybreak +with the captive knight, whose return to England could no longer be +delayed.</p> +<p>Poor children! while Sir James Stewart was in the Prior’s chamber, +they sat silent and mournful by the bedside where their guardian lay +dozing, even till the bell for Matins summoned them in common with all +the other inmates of the convent; they knelt on the floor of the candle-lit +church, and held each other’s hands as they prayed; Lilias still +the stronger and more hopeful, while Malcolm, as he looked up at those +dear familiar vaultings, felt as if he were a bird driven from its calm +peaceful nest to battle with the tossing winds and storms of ocean, +without one near him whom he had learnt to love.</p> +<p>It was still dark when the service had ended, and Prior Akecliff +came towards them. ‘Daughter,’ he said to Lilias, +‘we deem it safer that you should ride to St. Abbs ere daylight. +Your palfrey is ready, the Mother Abbess is warned, and I will myself +conduct you thither.’</p> +<p>Priors were not people to be kept waiting, and as it was reported +that the Tutor of Glenuskie was still asleep, Lilias had to depart without +taking leave of him. With Malcolm the last words were spoken while +crossing the court. ‘Fear not, Lily; my heart will only +weary till the Church owns me, and Patie has you.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, my Malcolm; mayhap, as the Prior tells me, your strength +and manhood will come in the south country.’</p> +<p>‘Let them,’ said Malcolm; ‘I will neither cheat +the Church nor Patie.’</p> +<p>‘It were no cheat. There never was any compact. +Patie is winning his fortune by his own sword; he would scorn—’</p> +<p>‘Hush, Lily! When the King sees what a weakling Sir James +has brought him, he will be but too glad to exchange Patie for me, and +leave me safe in these blessed walls.’</p> +<p>But here they were under the archway, and the convoy of armed men, +whom the exigencies of the time forced the convent to maintain, were +already mounted. Sir James stood ready to assist the lady to her +saddle, and with one long earnest embrace the brother and sister were +parted, and Lilias rode away with the Prior by her side, letting the +tears flow quietly down her cheeks in the darkness, and but half hearing +the long arguments by which good Father Akecliff was proving to her +that the decision was the best for both Malcolm and herself.</p> +<p>By and by the dawn began to appear, the air of the March night became +sharper, and in the distance the murmur and plash of the tide was heard. +Then, standing heavy and dark against the clear pale eastern sky, there +arose the dark mass of St. Ebba’s monastery, the parent of Coldingham, +standing on the very verge of the cliff to which it has left the name +of St. Abb’s Head, upon ground which has since been undermined +by the waves, and has been devoured by them. The sea, far below, +calmly brightened with the brightening sky, and reflected the morning +stars in a lucid track of light, strong enough to make the lights glisten +red in the convent windows. Lilias was expected, was a frequent +guest, and had many friends there, and as the sweet sound of the Lauds +came from the chapel, and while she dismounted in the court the concluding +‘Amen’ swelled and died away, she, though no convent bird, +felt herself in a safe home and shelter under the wing of kind Abbess +Annabel Drummond, and only mourned that Malcolm, so much tenderer and +more shrinking than herself, should be driven into the unknown world +that he dreaded so much more than she did.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III: HAL</h2> +<p>The sun had not long been shining on the dark walls of St. Ebba’s +monastery, before the low-browed gate of Coldingham Priory opened to +let pass the guests of the previous night. Malcolm had been kissed +and blessed by his guardian, and bidden to transfer his dutiful obedience +to his new protector; and somewhat comforted by believing Sir David +to be mending since last night, he had rent himself away, and was riding +in the frosty morning air beside the kinsman who had so strangely taken +charge of him, and accompanied by Sir James’s tall old Scottish +squire, by the English groom, and by Malcolm’s own servant, Halbert.</p> +<p>For a long space there was perfect silence: and as Malcolm began +to detach his thoughts from all that he had left behind, he could not +help being struck with the expressions that flitted over his companion’s +countenance. For a time he would seem lost in some deep mournful +reverie, and his head drooped as if in sadness or perplexity; then a +sudden gleam would light up his face, as if a brilliant project had +occurred to him, his lips would part, his eyes flash, he would impel +his horse forward as though leading a charge, or lift up his head with +kindling looks, like one rehearsing a speech; but ever a check would +come on him in the midst, his mouth closed in dejection, his brow drew +together in an anguish of impatience, his eyelids drooped in weariness, +and he would ride on in deep reflection, till roused perhaps by the +flight of a moor-fowl, or the rush of a startled roe, he would hum some +gay French hunting-song or plaintive Scottish ballad.</p> +<p>Scarcely a word had been uttered, until towards noon, on the borders +of a little narrow valley, the merry sound of bells clashed up to their +ears, and therewith sounds of music. ‘’Tis the toon +of Christ’s Kirk on the Green,’ said the squire, as Sir +James looked at him for information, ‘where we were to bait. +Methought in Lent we had been spared this gallimawfrey.’</p> +<p>‘’Tis Midlent week, you pagan,’ replied Sir James. +‘These good folk have come a-mothering, and a share of their simnels +we’ll have.’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ entreated the squire, ‘were it not more +prudent of you to tarry without, and let me fetch provisions?’</p> +<p>‘Hoot, man, a throng is our best friend! Besides, the +horses must rest.’</p> +<p>So saying, Sir James rode eagerly forward; Malcolm following, not +without wonder at not having been consulted, for though kept in strict +discipline by his uncle, it had always been with every courtesy due +to his rank as a king’s grandson; and the cousins, from whom he +had suffered, were of the same rank with himself. Did this wandering +landless knight, now he had him in his power, mean to disregard all +that was his due? But when Sir James turned round his face sparkling +with good-humour and amusement, and laughed as he said, ‘Now then +for the humours of a Scottish fair!’ all his offended dignity +was forgotten.</p> +<p>The greensward was surrounded by small huts and hovels; a little +old stone church on one side, and a hostel near it, shadowed by a single +tall elm, beneath which was the very centre of the village wake. +Not only was it Midlent, but the day was the feast of a local saint, +in whose honour Lenten requirements were relaxed. Monks and priests +were there in plenty, and so were jugglers and maskers, Robin Hood and +Marion, glee-men and harpers, merchants and hucksters, masterful beggars +and sorners, shepherds in gray mauds with wise collies at their feet, +shrewd old carlines with their winter’s spinning of yarn, lean +wolf-like borderers peaceable for the nonce, merry lasses with tow-like +locks floating from their snoods, all seen by the intensely glittering +sun of a clear March day, dry and not too cold for these hardy northern +folk.</p> +<p>Nigel, the squire, sighed in despondency; and Malcolm, who hated +crowds, and knew himself a mark for the rude observations of a free-spoken +populace, shrank up to him, when Sir James, nodding in time to the tones +of a bagpipe that was playing at the hostel door, flung his bridle to +Brewster the groom, laughed at his glum and contemptuous looks, merrily +hailed the gudewife with her brown face and big silver ear-rings, seated +himself on the bench at the long wooden table under the great garland +of fir-boughs, willow catkins, and primroses, hung over the boughs of +the tree, crossed himself, murmured his <i>Benedictus benedicat</i>, +drew his dagger, carved a slice of the haunch of ox on the table, offered +it to the reluctant Malcolm, then helping himself, entered into conversation +with the lean friar on one side of him, and the stalwart man-at-arms +opposite, apparently as indifferent as the rest of the company to the +fact that the uncovered boards of the table were the only trenchers, +and the salt and mustard were taken by the point of each man’s +dagger from common receptacles dispersed along the board. Probably +the only person really disgusted or amazed was the English Brewster, +who, though too cautious to express a word of his feelings, preserved +the most complete silence, and could scarcely persuade himself to taste +the rude fare.</p> +<p>Nor when the meal was over was Sir James disposed to heed the wistful +looks of his attendants, but wandered off to watch the contest in archery +at the butts, where arrow after arrow flew wide of the clout, for the +strength of Scotland did not lie in the long-bow, and Albany’s +edict that shooting should be practised on Sundays and holidays had +not produced as yet any great dexterity.</p> +<p>Sir James at first laughed merrily at the extraordinary screwings +of visage and contortions of attitude, and the useless demonstration +of effort with which the clowns aimed their shafts and drew their bow, +sometimes to find the arrow on the grass at their feet, sometimes to +see it producing consternation among the bystanders; but when he saw +Brewster standing silently apart, viewing their efforts with a scorn +visible enough in the dead stolidity of his countenance, he murmured +a bitter interjection, and turned away with folded arms and frowning +brow.</p> +<p>Nigel again urged their departure, but at that moment the sweet notes +of a long narrative ballad began to sound to the accompaniment of a +harp, and he stood motionless while the wild mournful ditty told of +the cruelty of the Lady of Frendraught, and how</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Morning sun ne’er shone upon<br /> +Lord John and Rothiemay.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Large tears were dropping from under the hand with he veiled his +emotion; and when Nigel touched his cloak to remind him that the horses +were ready, he pressed the old man’s hand, saying, with a sigh, +‘I heard that last at my father’s knee! It rung in +my ears for many a year! Here, lad!’ and dropping a gold +coin into the wooden bowl carried round by the blind minstrel’s +attendant, he was turning away, when the glee-man, detecting perhaps +the ring of the coin, broke forth in stirring tones—</p> +<blockquote><p>“It fell about the Lammas tide,<br /> + When moormen win their hay,<br /> +The doughty Earl of Douglas rode<br /> + Into England to catch a prey.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Again he stood transfixed, beating time with his hand, his eyes beaming, +his hips moving as he followed the spirit-stirring ballad; and then, +as Douglas falls, and is laid beneath the bracken bush, unseen by his +men, and Montgomery forces Hotspur to yield, not to him, but</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘to the bracken +bush<br /> +That grows upon the lily lea,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>he sobbed without disguise; and no sooner was the ballad ended than +he sprang forward to the harper, crying, ‘Again, again; another +gold crown to hear it again!’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ entreated Nigel, ‘remember how much hangs +on your speed.’</p> +<p>‘The ballad I <i>must</i> have,’ exclaimed Sir James, +trying to shake him off. ‘It moves the heart more than aught +I ever heard! How runs it?’</p> +<p>‘<i>I</i> know the ballad,’ said Malcolm, half in impatience, +half in contempt. ‘I could sing every word of it. +Every glee-man has it.’</p> +<p>‘Nay—hear you, Sir—the lad can sing it,’ +reiterated Nigel; and Sir James, throwing the promised guerdon to the +minstrel, let himself be led away to the front of the inn; but there +was a piper, playing to a group of dancers, and as if his feet could +not resist the fascination, Sir James held out his hand to the first +comely lass he saw disengaged, and in spite of the steel-guarded boots +that he wore, answered foot for foot, spring for spring, to the deft +manoeuvres of her shoeless feet, with equal agility and greater grace. +Nigel frowned more than ever at this exhibition, and when the knight +had led his panting partner to a seat, and called for a tankard of ale +for her refreshment, he remonstrated more seriously still. ‘Sir, +the gates of Berwick will be shut.’</p> +<p>‘The days lengthen, man.’</p> +<p>‘And who knows if some of yon land-loupers be not of Walter +Stewart’s meiné? Granted that they ken not yourself, +that lad is only too ken-speckle. Moreover, you ye made free enough +with your siller to set the haill crew of moss-troopers on our track.’</p> +<p>‘Twenty mile to Berwick-gate,’ said Sir James, carelessly; +‘nor need you ever look behind you at jades like theirs. +Nay, friend, I come, since you grudge me for once the sight of a little +wholesome glee among my own people. My holiday is dropping from +me like sands in an hour-glass!’</p> +<p>He mounted, however, and put his horse to as round a pace as could +be maintained by the whole party with out distress; nor did he again +break silence for many miles.</p> +<p>At the gates of Berwick, then in English hands, be gave a pass-word, +and was admitted, he bade Nigel conduct Lord Malcolm to an inn, explaining +that it was his duty to present himself to the governor; and, being +detained to sup with him, was seen no more till they started the next +morning. The governor rode out with them some ten miles, with +a strong guard of spearmen; and after parting with him they pushed on +to the south.</p> +<p>After the first day’s journey, Malcolm was amazed to see Sir +James mount without any of his defensive armour, which was piled on +the spare horse; his head was covered by a chaperon, or flat cap with +a short curtain to it, and his sword was the only weapon he retained. +Nigel was also nearly unarmed, and Sir James advised Malcolm himself +to lay aside the light hawberk he wore; then, at his amazed look, said, +‘Poor lad! he never saw the day when he could ride abroad scathless. +When will the breadth of Scotland be as safe as these English hills?’</p> +<p>He was very kind to his young companion, treating him in all things +like a guest, pointing out what was worthy of note, and explaining what +was new and surprising. Malcolm would have asked much concerning +the King, to whom he was bound, but these questions were the only ones +Sir James put aside, saying that his kinsman would one day learn that +it ill beseemed those who were about a king’s person to speak +of him freely.</p> +<p>One night was spent at Durham, the parent of Coldingham, and here +Malcolm felt at home, far more grand as was that mighty cathedral institution. +There it stood, with the Weir encircling it, on its own fair though +mighty hill, with all the glory of its Norman mister and lovely Lady-chapel; +yet it seemed to the boy more like a glorified Coldingham than like +a strange region.</p> +<p>‘The peace of God rests on the place,’ he said, when +Sir James asked his thoughts as he looked back at the grand mass of +buildings. ‘These are the only spots where the holy and +tender can grow, like the Palestine lilies sheltered from the blast +in the Abbot’s garden at Coldingham.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, lad, it were an ill world did lilies only grow in abbots’ +gardens.’</p> +<p>‘It is an ill world,’ said Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘Let us hear what you say in a month’s time,’ replied +the knight, lightly: then dreaming over the words.</p> +<p>A few days more, and they were riding among the lovely rock and woodland +scenery of Yorkshire, when suddenly there leaped from behind a bush +three or four young men, with a loud shout of ‘Stand.’</p> +<p>‘Reivers!’ thought Malcolm, sick with dismay, as the +foremost grasped Sir James’s bridle; but the latter merely laughed, +saying, ‘How now, Hal! be these your old tricks?’</p> +<p>‘Ay, when such prizes are errant,’ said the assailant +and Sir James, springing from his horse, embraced him and his companion +with a cordiality that made Malcolm not a little uneasy. Could +he have been kidnapped by a false Englishman into a den of robbers for +the sake of his ransom?</p> +<p>‘You are strict to your time,’ said the chief robber. +‘I knew you would be. So, when Ned Marmion came to Beverley, +and would have us to see his hunting at Tanfield, we came on thinking +to meet you. Marmion here has a nooning spread in the forest; +ere we go on to Thirsk, where I have a matter to settle between two +wrong-headed churls. How has it been with you, Jamie? you have +added to your meiné.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, Hal! never in all your cut-purse days did you fall on +such an emprise as I have achieved.’</p> +<p>‘Let us hear,’ said Hal, linking his arm in Sir James’s, +who turned for a moment to say, ‘Take care of the lad, John; he +is a young kinsman of mine.’</p> +<p>‘Kinsman!’ thought Malcolm; ‘do all wandering Stewarts +claim kin to the blood royal?’ but then, as he looked at Sir James’s +stately head, he felt that no assumption could be unbecoming in one +of such a presence, and so kind to himself; and, ashamed of the moment’s +petulance, dismounted, and, as John said, ‘This is the way to +our noon meat,’ he let himself be conducted through the trees +to a glade, sheltered from the wind, where a Lenten though not unsavoury +meal of bread, dried fish, and eggs was laid out on the grass, in a +bright warm sunshine; and Hal, declaring himself to have a hunter’s +appetite, and that he knew Jamie had been starved in Scotland, and was +as lean as a greyhound, seated himself on the grass, and to Malcolm’s +extreme surprise, not to say disgust, was served by Lord Marmion on +the knee and with doffed cap.</p> +<p>While the meal was being eaten, Malcolm studied the strangers. +Lord Marmion was a good-humoured, hearty-looking young Yorkshireman, +but the other two attracted his attention far more. They were +evidently brothers, one perhaps just above, the other just below, thirty; +both of the most perfect mould of symmetry, activity, and strength, +though perhaps more inclining to agility than robustness. Both +were fair-complexioned, and wore no beard; but John was the paler, graver, +and more sedate, and his aquiline profile had an older look than that +borne by Hal’s perfectly regular features. It would have +been hard to define what instantly showed the seniority of his brother, +for the clearness of his colouring—bright red and white like a +lady’s—his short, well-moulded chin, and the fresh earnestness +and animation of his countenance, gave an air of perpetual youth in +spite of the scar of an arrow on the cheek which told of at least one +battle; but there were those manifestations of being used to be the +first which are the evident tokens of elder sonship, and the lordly +manner more and more impressed Malcolm. He was glad that his own +Sir James was equal in dignity, as well as superior in height, and he +thought the terrible red lightning of those auburn eyes would be impossible +to the sparkling azure eyes of the Englishman, steadfast, keen, and +brilliant unspeakably though they were; but so soon as Sir James seemed +to have made his explanation, the look was most winningly turned on +him, a hand held out, and he was thus greeted: ‘Welcome, my young +Prince Malcolm; I am happy that your cousin thinks so well of our cheer, +that he has brought you to partake it.’</p> +<p>‘His keeper, Somerset,’ thought Malcolm, as he bowed +stiffly; ‘he seems to treat me coolly enough. I come to +serve my King,’ he said, but he was scarcely heard; for as Hal +unbuckled his sword before sitting down on the grass, he thrust into +his bosom a small black volume, with which he seemed to have been beguiling +the time; and John exclaimed—</p> +<p>‘There goes Godfrey de Bulloin. I tell you, Jamie, ’tis +well you are come! Now have I some one to speak with. Ever +since Harry borrowed my Lady of Westmoreland’s book of the Holy +War, he has not had a word to fling at me.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said Sir James, ‘I saw a book, indeed, of +the Holy Land! It would tempt him too much to hear how near the +Border it dwells! What was it named, Malcolm?’</p> +<p>‘The “Itinerarium of Adamnanus,”’ replied +Malcolm, blushing at the sudden appeal.</p> +<p>‘Ha! I’ve heard of it,’ cried the English +knight. ‘I sent to half the convent libraries to beg the +loan when Gilbert de Lannoy set forth for the survey of Palestine. +Does the Monk of Iona tell what commodity of landing there may be on +the coast?’</p> +<p>Malcolm had the sea-port towns at his fingers’ ends, and having +in the hard process of translation, and reading and re-reading one of +the few books that came into his hands, nearly mastered the contents, +he was able to reply with promptness and precision, although with much +amazement, for</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Much he marvelled a knight of pride<br /> +Like book-bosomed priest should ride;’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>nor had he ever before found his accomplishments treated as aught +but matters of scorn among the princes and nobles with whom he had occasionally +been thrown.</p> +<p>‘Good! good!’ said Sir Harry at last. ‘Well +read, and clearly called to mind. The stripling will do you credit, +James. Where have you studied, fair cousin?’</p> +<p>Cousin! was it English fashion to make a cousin of everybody? +But gentle, humble Malcolm had no resentment in him, and felt gratified +at the friendly tone of so grand and manly-looking a knight. ‘At +home,’ he answered, ‘with a travelling scholar who had studied +at Padua and Paris.’</p> +<p>‘That is where you Scots love to haunt! But know you +how they are served there? I have seen the gibbet where the Mayor +of Paris hung two clerks’ sons for loving his daughters over well!’</p> +<p>‘The clerks’ twa sons of Owsenford that were foully slain!’ +cried Malcolm, his face lighting up. ‘Oh, Sir, have you +seen their gibbet?’</p> +<p>‘What? were they friends of yours?’ asked Hal, much amused, +and shaking his head merrily at Sir James. ‘Ill company, +I fear—’</p> +<p>‘Only in a ballad,’ said Malcolm, colouring, ‘that +tells how at Yuletide the ghosts came to their mother with their hats +made of the birk that grew at the gates of Paradise.’</p> +<p>‘A rare ballad must that be!’ exclaimed Hal. ‘Canst +sing it? Or are you weary?—Marmion, prithee tell some of +the fellows to bring my harp from the baggage.’</p> +<p>‘His own harp is with ours,’ said Sir James; ‘he +will make a better figure therewith.’</p> +<p>At his sign, the attendant, Nigel, the only person besides Lord Marmion +of Tanfield who had been present at the meal, besides the two Stewarts +and the English brothers, rose and disappeared between the trees, beyond +which a hum of voices, an occasional laugh, and the stamping of horses +and jingling of bridles, betokened that a good many followers were in +waiting. Malcolm’s harp was quickly brought, having been +slung in its case to the saddle of Halbert’s horse; and as he +had used it to beguile the last evening’s halt, it did not need +much tuning. Surprised as his princely notions were at being commanded +rather than requested to sing, the sweet encouraging smile and tone +of kind authority banished all hesitation in complying, and he gave +the ballad of the Clerks’ Twa Sons of Owsenford with much grace +and sweetness, while the weakness of his voice was compensated by the +manlier strains with which Sir James occasionally chimed in. Then, +as Harry gave full meed of appreciative praise and thanks, Sir James +said, ‘Lend me thine harp, Malcolm; I have learnt thy song now; +and thou, Harry, must hear and own how far our Scottish minstrelsy exceeds +thy boasted Chevy Chase.’</p> +<p>And forth rang in all the mellow beauty of his voice that most glorious +of ballads, the Battle of Otterburn, as much more grand than it had +been when he heard it from the glee-man or from Malcolm, as a magnificent +voice, patriotic enthusiasm, and cultivation and refinement, could make +it. He had lost himself and all around in the passion of the victory, +the pathos of the death. But no such bright look of thanks recompensed +him. Harry’s face grew dark, and he growled, ‘Douglas +dead? Ay, he wins more fields so than alive! I wish you +would keep my old Shrewsbury friend, Earl Tyneman, as you call him, +at home.’</p> +<p>‘’Tis ill keeping the scholars in bounds when the master +is away,’ returned Sir James.</p> +<p>‘Well, by this time Tom has taught them how to transgress—sent +them home with the long scourge from robbing orchards in Anjou. +He writes to me almost with his foot in the stirrup, about to give Douglas +and Buchan a lesson. I shall make short halts and long stages +south. This is too far off for tidings.’</p> +<p>‘True,’ said Sir John, with a satirical curl of the lip; +‘above all, when fair ladies brook not to ink their ivory fingers.’</p> +<p>‘There spake the envious fiend,’ laughed the elder brother. +‘John bears not the sight of what he will not or cannot get.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll never be chained to a lady’s litter, nor +be forced to loiter till her wimple is pinned,’ retorted John. +‘Nor do I like dames with two husbands besides.’</p> +<p>‘One would have cancelled the other, as grammarians tell us,’ +said Harry, ‘if thy charms, John, had cancelled thine hook nose! +I would they had, ere her first marriage. Humfrey will burn his +fingers there, and we must hasten back to look after that among other +things.—My Lord Marmion,’ he added, starting hastily up, +and calling to him as he stood at some distance conversing with the +Scottish Nigel, ‘so please you, let us have the horses;’ +and as the gentleman hastened to give the summons, he said, ‘We +shall make good way now. We shall come on Watling Street. +Ha, Jamie, when shall we prove ourselves better men than a pack of Pagan +Romans, by having a set of roads fit for man or beast, of our own making +instead of theirs half decayed? Look where I will, in England +or France, their roads are the same in build—firm as the world +itself, straight as arrows. An army is off one’s mind when +once one gets on a Roman way. I’ll learn the trick, and +have them from Edinburgh to Bordeaux ere ten years are out; and then, +what with traffic and converse with the world, and ready justice, neither +Highland men minor Gascons will have leisure or taste for robbery.’</p> +<p>‘Perhaps Gascons and Scots will have a voice in the matter,’ +said James, a little stiffly; and the horses being by this time brought, +Sir Harry mounted, and keeping his horse near that of young Malcolm, +to whom he had evidently taken a fancy, he began to talk to him in so +friendly and winning a manner, that he easily drew from the youth the +whole history of his acquaintance with Sir James Stewart, of the rescue +of his sister, and the promise to conduct him to the captive King of +Scots, as the only means of saving him from his rapacious kindred.</p> +<p>‘Poor lad!’ said Harry, gravely.</p> +<p>‘Do you know King James, Sir?’ asked Malcolm, timidly.</p> +<p>‘Know him?’ said Harry, turning round to scan the boy +with his merry blue eye. ‘I know him—yes; that as +far as a poor Welsh knight can know his Grace of Scotland.’</p> +<p>‘And, Sir, will he be good lord to me?’</p> +<p>‘Eh! that’s as you may take him. I would not be +one of yonder Scots under his hands!’</p> +<p>‘Has he learned to hate his own countrymen?’ asked Malcolm, +in an awe-stricken voice.</p> +<p>‘Hate? I trow he has little to love them for. He +is a good fellow enough, my young lord, when left to himself; but best +beware. Lions in a cage have strange tempers.’</p> +<p>A courier rode up at the moment, and presented some letters, which +Sir Harry at once opened and read, beckoning his brother and Sir James +to his side, while Malcolm rode on in their wake, in a state of dismay +and bewilderment. Nigel and Lord Marmion were together at so great +an interval that he could not fall back on them, nor learn from them +who these brothers were. And there was something in the ironical +suppressed pity with which Harry had spoken of his prospects with the +King of Scots, that terrified him all the more, because he knew that +Sir James and Nigel would both hold it unworthy of him to have spoken +freely of his own sovereign with an Englishman. Would James be +another Walter? and, if so, would Sir James Stewart protect him? +He had acquired much affection for, and strong reliance on, the knight; +but there was something unexplained, and his heart sank.</p> +<p>The smooth line of Watling Street at length opened into the old town +of Thirsk, and here bells were ringing, flags flying from the steeple, +music sounded, a mayor and his corporation in their robes rode slowly +forth, crowds lined the road-side, caps were flung up, and a tremendous +shout arose, ‘God save King Harry!’</p> +<p>Malcolm gazed about more utterly discomfited. There was ‘Harry,’ +upright on his horse, listening with a gracious smile, while the mayor +rehearsed a speech about welcome and victories, and the hopeful queen, +and, what was still more to the purpose, tendered a huge pair of gauntlets, +each filled to the brim, one with gold, and the other with silver pieces.</p> +<p>‘Eh! Thanks, Master Mayor, but these gloves must be cleared, +ere there is room for me to use them in battle!’</p> +<p>And handing the gold glove to his brother, he scattered the contents +of the silver one far and wide among the populace, who shouted their +blessings louder than ever, and thus he reached the market-place. +There all was set forth as for the lists, a horseman in armour on either +side.</p> +<p>‘Heigh now, Sirs,’ said Harry, ‘have we not wars +enough toward without these mummings of vanity?’</p> +<p>‘This is no show, my Lord King,’ returned the mayor, +abashed. ‘This is deadly earnest. These are two honourable +gentlemen of Yorkshire, who are come hither to fight out their quarrel +before your Grace.’</p> +<p>‘Two honourable foolsheads!’ muttered Harry; then, raising +his voice, ‘Come hither, gentlemen, let us hear your quarrel.’</p> +<p>The two gentlemen were big Yorkshiremen, heavy-browed, and their +native shrewdness packed far away behind a bumpkin stolidity and surliness +that barely allowed them to show respect to the King.</p> +<p>‘So please you, Sir,’ growled the first in his throat, +‘here stands Christopher Kitson of Barrowbridge, ready to avouch +himself a true man, and prove in yonder fellow’s teeth that it +was not a broken-kneed beast that I sent up for a heriard to my Lord +Archbishop when my father died; but that he of Easingwold is a black +slanderer and backbiter.’</p> +<p>‘And here,’ shouted the other, ‘stands honest William +Trenton of Easingwold, ready to thrust his lies down his throat, and +prove on his body that the heriard he sent to my Lord Archbishop was +a sorry jade.’</p> +<p>‘That were best proved by the beast’s body,’ interposed +time King.</p> +<p>‘And,’ proceeded the doughty Kitson, as though repeating +a lesson, ‘having vainly pleaded the matter these nine years, +we are come to demand licence to fight it out, with lance, sword, and +dagger, in your royal presence, to set the matter at rest for ever.’</p> +<p>‘Breaking a man’s head to prove the soundness of a horse!’ +ejaculated Harry.</p> +<p>‘Your licence is given, Sir King?’ demanded Kitson.</p> +<p>‘My licence is given for a combat <i>à l’outrance</i>,’ +said Henry; but, as they were about to flounder back on their big farm-horses, +he raised his voice to a thundering sound: ‘Solely on this condition, +that he who slays his neighbour, be he Trenton or Kitson, shall hang +for the murder ere I leave Thirsk.’</p> +<p>There was a recoil, and the mayor himself ventured to observe something +about the judgment of God, and ‘never so seen.’</p> +<p>‘And I say,’ thundered Henry, and his blue eyes seemed +to flame with vehement indignation, ‘I say that the ordeal of +battle is shamefully abused, and that it is a taking of God’s +name—ay, and man’s life—in vain, to appeal thereto +on every coxcomb’s quarrel, risking the life that was given him +to serve God’s ends, not his own sullen fancy. I will have +an end of such things!—And you, gentlemen, since the heriard is +dead, or too old to settle the question, shake hands, and if you must +let blood, come to France with me next month, and flesh your knives +on French and Scots.’</p> +<p>‘So please you, Sir,’ grumbled Kitson, ‘there’s +Mistress Agnes of Mineshull; she’s been in doubt between the two +of us these five years, and she’d promised to wed whichever of +us got the better.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll settle her mind for her! Whichever I find +foremost among the French, I’ll send home to her a knight, and +with better sense to boot than to squabble for nine years as to an old +horse.’</p> +<p>He then dismounted, and was conducted into the town-hall, where a +banquet was prepared, taking by the hand Sir James Stewart, and followed +by his brother John, and by Malcolm, who felt as though his brain were +turning, partly with amazement, partly with confusion at his own dulness, +as he perceived that not only was the free-spoken Hal, Henry of Monmouth, +King of England, but that his wandering benefactor, the captive knight, +whose claim of kindred he had almost spurned, was his native sovereign, +James the First of Scotland.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV: THE TIDINGS OF BEAUGÉ</h2> +<p>Malcolm understood it at last. In the great chamber where he +was bidden to wait within ‘Nigel’ till ‘Sir James’ +came from a private conference with ‘Harry,’ he had all +explained to him, but within a curtness and brevity that must not be +imitated in the present narrative.</p> +<p>The squire Nigel was in fact Sir Nigel Baird, Baron of Bairdsbrae, +the gentleman to whom poor King Robert II. had committed the charge +of his young son James, when at fourteen he had been sent to France, +nominally for education, but in reality to secure him from the fate +of his brother Rothsay.</p> +<p>Captured by English vessels on the way, the heir of Scotland had +been too valuable a prize to be resigned by the politic Henry IV., who +had lodged him at Windsor Castle, together with Edmund Mortimer, earl +of March, and placed both under the nominal charge of the Prince of +Wales, a youth of a few years older. Unjust as was the detention, +it had been far from severe; the boys had as much liberty as their age +and recreation required, and received the choicest training both in +the arts of war and peace. They were bred up in close intercourse +with the King’s own four sons, and were united with them by the +warmest sympathy.</p> +<p>In fact, since usurpation had filled Henry of Lancaster’s mind +with distrust and jealousy, his eldest son had been in no such enviable +position as to be beyond the capacity of fellow-feeling for the royal +prisoner.</p> +<p>Of a peculiarly frank, open, and affectionate nature, young Henry +had so warmly loved the gentle and fascinating Richard II., that his +trust in the father, of whom he had seen little in his boyhood, had +received a severe shock through Richard’s fate. Under the +influence of a new, suspicious, and avaricious wife, the King kept his +son as much at a distance as possible, chiefly on the Welsh marches, +learning the art of war under Hotspur and Oldcastle; and when the father +and son were brought together again, the bold, free bearing and extraordinary +ability of the Prince filled the suspicious mind of the King with alarm +and jealousy. To keep him down, give him no money, and let him +gain no influence, was the narrow policy of the King; and Henry, chafing, +dreaming, feeling the injustice, and pining for occupation, shared his +complaints within James, and in many a day-dream restored him freely +to his throne, and together redressed the wrongs of the world. +Meantime, James studied deep in preparation, and recreated himself with +poetry, inspired by the charms of Joan Beaufort, the lovely daughter +of the King’s legitimatized brother, the Earl of Somerset; while +Henry persisted in a boy’s passionate love to King Richard’s +maiden widow, Isabel of France. Entirely unrequited as his affection +was, it had a beneficial effect. Next after his deep sense of +religion, it kept his life pure and chivalrous. He was for ever +faithful to his future wife, even when Isabel had been returned to France, +and his romantic passion had fixed itself on her younger sister Catherine, +whom he endowed in imagination with all he had seen or supposed in her.</p> +<p>Credited with every excess by the tongue of his stepmother, too active-minded +not to indulge in freakish sports and experiments in life very astounding +to commonplace minds, sometimes when in dire distress even helping himself +to his unpaid allowance from his father’s mails, and always with +buoyant high spirits and unfailing drollery that scandalized the grave +seniors of the Court, there is full proof that Prince Hal ever kept +free from the gross vices which a later age has fancied inseparably +connected with his frolics; and though always in disgrace, the vexation +of the Court, and a by-word for mirth, he was true to the grand ideal +he was waiting to accomplish, and never dimmed the purity and loftiness +of his aim. That little band of princely youths, who sported, +studied, laughed, sang, and schemed in the glades of Windsor, were strangely +brought together—the captive exiled King, the disinherited heir +of the realm, and the sons of the monarch who held the one in durance +and occupied the throne of the other; and yet their affection had all +the frank delight of youthful friendship. The younger lads were +in more favour with their father than was the elder. Thomas was +sometimes preferred to him in a mortifying manner, John’s grave, +quiet nature prevented him from ever incurring displeasure, and Humfrey +was the spoilt pet of the family; but nothing could lessen Harry’s +large-minded love of his brothers; and he was the idol and hero of the +whole young party, who implicitly believed in his mighty destinies as +a renovator of the world, the deliverer of Jerusalem, and restorer of +the unity and purity of the Church.</p> +<p>‘Harry the Fifth was crowned,’ and with the full intention +of carrying out his great dream. But his promise of releasing +James became matter of question. The House of Albany, who held +the chief power in Scotland, had bound Henry IV. over not to free their +master; and it was plain that to send him home before his welcome was +ensured would be but tossing him on their spears. In vain James +pleaded that he was no boy, and was able to protect himself; and vowed +that when the faithful should rally round his standard, he would be +more than a match for his enemies; or that if not, he would rather die +free than live in bondage. Henry would not listen, and insisted +upon retaining him until he should himself be at leisure to bring him +home with a high hand, utterly disregarding his assurance that this +would only be rendering him in the eyes of his subjects another despised +and hated Balliol.</p> +<p>Deeming himself a divinely-appointed redresser of wrongs, Henry was +already beginning on his great work of purifying Europe in preparation +for his mighty Crusade; and having won that splendid victory which laid +distracted France at his feet, he only waited to complete the conquest +as thoroughly and rapidly as might be; and, lest his grand purpose should +be obstructed, this great practical visionary, though full of kindness +and generosity, kept in thraldom a whole troop of royal and noble captives.</p> +<p>He had, however, been so far moved by James’s entreaties, as +to consent that when he himself offered his devotions at the shrine +of St. John of Beverley, the native saint who shared with the two cordwainers +his gratitude for the glories of ‘Crispin Crispian’s day,’ +his prisoner should, unknown to any save the few who shared the pilgrimage, +push on to reconnoitre his own country, and judge for himself, having +first sworn to reveal himself to no one, and to avoid all who could +recognize him. James had visited Glenuskie within a special view +to profiting by the wisdom of Sir David Drummond, and had then been +at Stirling, Edinburgh, and Perth. On his way back, falling in +with Malcolm in his distress, he had conceived the project of taking +him to England; and finding himself already more than half recognized +by Sir David, had obtained his most grateful and joyous consent. +In truth, James’s heart had yearned to his young cousin, his own +situation had become much more lonely of late; for Henry was no longer +the comrade he had once been, since he had become a keeper instead of +a fellow-sufferer. It was true that he did his best to forget +this by lavishing indulgences on his captive, and insisting on being +treated on terms of brotherly familiarity; but though his transcendent +qualities commanded love, the intimacy could be but a semblance of the +once equal friendship. Moreover, that conspiracy which cost the +life of the Earl of Cambridge had taught James that cautious reserve +was needed in dealing with even his old friends the princes, so easily +might he be accused of plotting either with Henry’s immediate +heir or with the Mortimers; and, in this guarded life, he had hailed +with delight the opportunity of taking to himself the young orphan cousin +of kindred blood, of congenial tastes, and home-like speech, whom he +might treat at once as a younger brother and friend, and mould by and +by into a trusty counsellor and assistant. That peculiar wistfulness +and gentleness of Malcolm’s look and manner, together with the +refinement and intellect apparent to all who conversed with him without +alarming him, had won the King’s heart, and made him long to keep +the boy with him. As to Malcolm’s longing for the cloister, +he deemed it the result of the weakly health and refined nature which +shrank from the barbarism of the outer world, and he thought it would +pass away under shelter from the rude taunts of the fierce cousins, +at a distance from the well-meaning exhortations of the monks, and at +the spectacle of brave and active men who could also be pious, conscientious, +and cultivated. In the renewed sojourn at Windsor which James +apprehended, the training of such a youth as Malcolm of Glenuskie would +be no small solace.</p> +<p>By the time Malcolm had learnt as much of all this as Sir Nigel Baird +knew, or chose to communicate, the King entered the room. He flung +himself on his knees, exclaiming, with warm gratitude, as he kissed +the King’s hand, ‘My liege, I little kenned—’</p> +<p>‘I meant thee to ken little,’ said James, smiling. +‘Well, laddie, wilt thou share the prisoner’s cell?—Ay, +Bairdsbrae, you were a true prophet. Harry will do all himself, +and will not hear of losing me to deal with my own people at my own +gate. No, no, he’ll have me back with Southron bows and +bills, so soon as this small trifle of France lies quiet in his grasp! +I had nearly flung back my parole in his face, and told him that no +English sword should set me on the Bruce’s throne; but there is +something in Harry of Monmouth that one <i>must</i> love, and there +are moments when to see and hear him one would as soon doubt the commission +of an angel with a flaming sword.’</p> +<p>‘A black angel!’ growled Sir Nigel.</p> +<p>‘Scoff and chafe, Baird, but look at his work. Look at +Normandy, freed from misrule and exaction, in peace and order. +Look at this land. Was ever king so loved? Or how durst +he act as he did this day?’</p> +<p>‘Nay, an it were so at home,’ said Baird, ‘I had +as lief stay here as where a man is not free to fight out his own feud. +Even this sackless callant thought it shame to see two honest men baulked.’</p> +<p>‘Poor Scotland!’ sighed James. ‘Woe is the +land where such thoughts come readiest to gray-haired men and innocent +boys. I tell you, cousin, this precious right is the very cause +that our poor country is so lawless and bloody, that yon poor silly +sparrow would fain be caged for fear of the kites and carrion-crows.’</p> +<p>‘Alack, my Lord, let me but have my way. I cannot fight! +Let Patrick Drummond have my sister and my lands, and your service will +be far better done,’ said Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘I know all that,’ said the King, kindly. ‘There +is time enough for settling that question; and meantime you will not +be spoilt for monk or priest by cheering me awhile in my captivity. +I need you, laddie,’ me added, laying his hand on the boy’s +shoulder, with all the instinctive fascination of a Stewart. ‘I +lack a comrade of my own blood, for I am all alone!’</p> +<p>‘Oh, Sir!’ and Malcolm, looking into his face, saw it +full of tenderness.</p> +<p>‘Books and masters you shall have,’ continued James, +‘such as for church or state, cathedral, cloister, or camp, shall +render you the meeter prince; and I pass you my royal word, that if +at full age the cowl be your choice, I will not gainsay you. Meantime, +abide with me, and be the young brother I have yearned for.’</p> +<p>The King threw his arms round Malcolm, who felt, and unconsciously +manifested, a strange bliss in that embrace, even while fixed in his +determination that nothing should make him swerve from his chosen path, +nor render him false to his promise to Patrick and Lilias. It +was a strange change, from being despised and down-trodden by fierce +cousins, or only fondled, pitied, and treated with consideration by +his own nearest and dearest friends, to be the chosen companion of a +king, and <i>such</i> a king. Nor could it be a wile of Satan, +thought Malcolm, since James still promised him liberty of choice. +He would ask counsel of a priest next time he went to confession; and +in the meantime, in the full tide of gratitude, admiration, and affection, +he gave himself up to the enjoyment of his new situation, and of time +King’s kindness and solicitude. This was indeed absolutely +that of an elder brother; for, observing that Malcolm’s dress +and equipments, the work of Glenuskie looms, supplemented by a few Edinburgh +purchases, was uncouth enough to attract some scornful glances from +the crowd who came out to welcome the royal entrance into York the next +day, he instantly sent Brewster in search of the best tailor and lorimer +in the city, and provided so handsomely for the appearance of young +Glenuskie, his horse, and his attendants, that the whole floor of their +quarters was strewn with doublets, boots, chaperons, and gloves, saddles, +bridles, and spurs, when the Duke of Bedford loitered into the room, +and began to banter James for thus (as he supposed) pranking himself +out to meet the lady of his love; and then bemoaned the fripperies that +had become the rage in their once bachelor court, vowing, between sport +and earnest, that Hal was so enamoured of his fair bride, that anon +the conquest of France would be left to himself and his brother, Tom +of Clarence; while James retorted by thrusts at Bedford’s own +rusticity of garb, and by endeavouring to force on him a pair of shoes +with points like ram’s horns, as a special passport to the favour +of Dame Jac—a lady who seemed to be the object of Duke John’s +great distaste.</p> +<p>Suddenly a voice was heard in the gallery of the great old mansion +where they were lodged. ‘John! John! Here!—Where +is the Duke, I say?’ It was thick and husky, as with some +terrible emotion; and the King and Duke had already started in dismay +before the door was thrown open, and King Henry stood among them, his +face of a burning red.</p> +<p>‘See here, John!’ he said, holding out a letter; and +then, with an accent of wrathful anguish, and a terrible frown, he turned +on James, exclaiming, ‘I would send you to the Tower, Sir, did +I think you had a hand in this!’</p> +<p>Malcolm trembled, and sidled nearer his prince; while James, with +an equally fierce look, replied, ‘Hold, Sir! Send me where +you will, but dare not dishonour my name!’ Then changing, +as he saw the exceeding grief on Henry’s brow, and heard John’s +smothered cry of dismay, ‘For Heaven’s sake, Harry, what +is it?’</p> +<p>‘This!’ said Henry, less loudly, less hotly, but still +with an agony of indignation: ‘Thomas is dead—and by the +hand of two of your traitor Scots!’</p> +<p>‘Murdered!’ cried James, aghast.</p> +<p>‘Murdered by all honest laws of war, but on the battlefield,’ +said Henry. ‘Your cousin of Buchan and old Douglas fell +on my brave fellows at Beaugé, when they were spent with travel +to stop the robberies in Anjou. They closed in with their pikes +on my brave fellows, took Somerset prisoner, and for Thomas, while he +was dealing with a knight named Swinton in front, the villain Buchan +comes behind and cleaves his head in twain; and that is what you Scots +call fighting!’</p> +<p>‘It was worthy of a son of Albany!’ said James. +‘Would that vengeance were in my power!’</p> +<p>‘Ay, you loved him!’ said Henry, grasping James’s +hand, his passion softened into a burst of tears, as he wrung his prisoner’s +hand. ‘Nay, who did not love him, my brave, free-hearted +brother? And that I—I should have dallied here and left +him to bear the brunt, and be cut off by you felon Scots!’ +And he hid his face, struggling within an agony of heart-rending grief, +which seemed to sway his whole tall, powerful frame as he leant against +the high back of a chair; while John, together with James, was imploring +him not to accuse himself, for his presence had been needful at home; +and, to turn the tenor of his thought, James inquired whether there +were any further disaster.</p> +<p>‘Not as yet,’ said Henry; ‘there is not a man left +in that heaven-abandoned crew who knows how to profit by what they have +got! but I must back again ere the devil stir them up a man of wit!—And +you, Sir, can you take order with these heady Scots?’</p> +<p>‘From Windsor? no,’ said James; ‘but set me in +the saddle, let me learn war under such a captain as yourself, and maybe +they will not take the field against me; or if they do, the slayer of +Clarence shall rue it.’</p> +<p>‘Be it so,’ said Henry, wringing his hand. ‘You +shall with me to France, Jamie, and see war. The Scots should +flock to the Lion rampant, and without them the French are mo better +than deer, under the fool and murderer they call Dauphin. Yet, +alas! will any success give me back my brother—my brother, the +brave and true?’ he added, weeping again within time <i>abandon</i> +of an open nature and simple age. ‘It was for my sins, my +forgetfulness of my great work, that this has come on me.—Ho, +Marmion! carry these tidings from me to the Dean; pray him that the +knell be tolled at the Minster, and a requiem sung for my brother and +all who fell with him. We will be there ourselves, and the mayor +must hold us excused from his banquet; these men are too loyal not to +grieve for their King.’</p> +<p>And, with his arm round the neck of his brother John, Henry left +the room; and before another word could be said, Sir Nigel was there, +having only retired on the King’s entrance. The news was +of course all over the house, and with an old attendant’s freedom +he exclaimed, ‘So, Sir, the English have found tough cummers at +last!’</p> +<p>‘Not too honourably,’ said James, sadly.</p> +<p>‘Hout, would not the puir loons be glad enow of any gate of +coming by a clout at the man’s brother that keeps you captive!’</p> +<p>‘They have taken away one of those I loved best!’ said +James.</p> +<p>‘I’m no speaking ill of the lad Clarence himself,’ +said Nigel; ‘he was a braw youth, leal and bold, and he has died +in his helm and spurs, as a good knight should. I’d wish +none of these princes a waur ending. Moreover, could Swinton have +had the wit to keep him living, he’d have been a bonnie barter +for you, my Lord; but ony way the fight was a gallant one, and the very +squire that brought the tidings cannot deny that our Scots fought like +lions.’</p> +<p>‘Would Douglas but so fight in any good quarrel!’ sighed +the King. ‘But what are you longing to ask, Malcolm? +Is it for your kinsman Patrick? I fear me that there is little +chance of your hearing by name of him.’</p> +<p>‘I wot not,’ said Sir Nigel; ‘I did but ask for +that hare-brained young cousin of mine, Davie Baird, that must needs +be off on this journey to France; and the squire tells me he was no +herald, to be answerable for the rogues that fought on the other side.’</p> +<p>‘We shall soon see for ourselves,’ said James; ‘I +am to make this campaign.’</p> +<p>‘You! you, my liege! Against your own ally, and under +the standard of England! Woe’s me, how could ye be so lost!’</p> +<p>James argued on his own conviction that the true France was with +poor Charles VI., and that it was doing the country no service to prolong +the resistance of the Armagnacs and the Dauphin, who then appeared mere +partisans instead of patriots. As to fighting under the English +banner, no subjection was involved in an adventurer king so doing: had +not the King of Bohemia thus fought at Crecy? and was not the King of +Sicily with the French army? Moreover, James himself felt the +necessity of gaining some experience in the art of war. Theoretically +he had studied it with all his might, from Cæsar, Quintus Curtius, +and that favourite modern authority, the learned ecclesiastic, Jean +Pavé, who was the Vauban of the fifteenth century; and he had +likewise obtained greedily all the information he could from Henry himself +and his warriors; but all this had convinced him that if war was to +be more than a mere raid, conducted by mere spirit and instinct, some +actual apprenticeship was necessary. Even for such a dash, Henry +himself had told him that he would find his book-knowledge an absolute +impediment without some practice, and would probably fail for that very +reason when opposed to tough old seasoned warriors. And, prudence +apart, James, at five-and-twenty, absolutely glowed with shame at the +thought that every one of his companions had borne arms for at least +ten years past, while his arrows had no mark but the target, his lances +had all been broken in the tilt-yard. It was this argument that +above all served to pacify old Bairdsbrae; though he confessed himself +very uneasy as to the prejudice it would create in Scotland, and so +evidently loathed the expedition, that James urged on him to return +to Scotland, instead of continuing his attendance. There was no +fear but that his ransom would be accepted, and he had been absent twelve +years from his home.</p> +<p>‘No, no, my Lord; I sware to your father that I’d never +quit you till I brought you safe home again, and, God willing, I’ll +keep my oath. But what’s this puir callant to do, that you +were set upon rearing upon your books at Windsor?’</p> +<p>‘He shall choose,’ said James. ‘Either he +shall study at the learned university at Oxford or at Paris, or he shall +ride with me, and see how cities and battles are won. Speak not +yet, cousin; it takes many months to shake out the royal banner, and +you shall look about you ere deciding. Now give me yonder black +cloak; they are assembling for the requiem.’</p> +<p>Malcolm, as he followed his king, was not a little amazed to see +that Henry, the magnificent victor, was wrapped in a plain black serge +garment, his short dark hair uncovered, his feet bare; and that on arriving +at the Minster he threw himself on his knees, almost on his face, before +the choir steps, there remaining while the <i>De profundis</i> and the +like solemn and mournful strains floated through the dark vaultings +above him, perhaps soothing while giving expression to the agony of +his affliction, and self-accusation, not for the devastation of the +turbulent country of an insane sovereign, but for his having relaxed +in the mighty work of renovation that he had imposed on himself.</p> +<p>Even when the service was ended, the King would not leave the Minster. +He lifted himself up to bid Bedford and his companions return; but for +himself, he intended to remain and confess, in preparation for being +‘houselled’ at the Mass for the dead early the next morning, +before hastening on the southern journey.</p> +<p>Was this, thought the bewildered Malcolm as he fell asleep, the godless +atmosphere he had been used to think all that was not Glenuskie or Coldingham—England +above all?</p> +<p>Indeed, in the frosty twilight of the spring morning, though Henry +was now clad in his usual garb, sleeplessness, sorrow, and fasting made +him as wan and haggard as any ascetic monk; his eyes were sunken, and +his closed lips bore a stern fixed expression, which scarcely softened +even when the sacrificial rite struck the notes of praise; and though +a light came into his eye, it was rather the devotion of one who had +offered himself, than the gleam of hopeful exultation. The horses +stood saddled at the west door, for Henry was feverishly eager to reach +Pontefract, where he had left his queen, and wished to avoid the delay +of breaking his fast at York, but only to snatch a meal at some country +hostel on his way.</p> +<p>Round the horses, however, a crowd of the citizens were collected +to gaze; and two or three women with children in their arms made piteous +entreaties for the King’s healing touch for their little ones. +The kind Henry waited, ungloved his hand, asked his treasurer for the +gold pieces that were a much-esteemed part of the cure, and signed to +his attendant chaplain to say the Collect appointed for the rite.</p> +<p>Fervent blessings were meantime murmured through the crowd, which +broke out into loud shouts of ‘God save King Harry!’ as +he at length leapt into the saddle; but at that moment, a feeble, withered +old man, leaning on a staff, and wearing a bedesman’s gown, peered +up, and muttered to a comrade—</p> +<p>‘Fair-faced, quotha—fair, maybe, but not long for this +world! One is gone already, and the rest will not be long after; +the holy man’s words will have their way—the death mark +is on him.’</p> +<p>The words caught James’s ear, and he angrily turned round: +‘Foul-mouthed raven, peace with thy traitor croak!’ but +Bedford caught his arm, crying—</p> +<p>‘Hush! ’tis a mere bedesman;’ and bending forward +to pour a handful of silver into the beggar’s cap, he said, ‘Pray, +Gaffer, pray—pray for the dead and living, both.’</p> +<p>‘So,’ said James, as both mounted, ‘there’s +a fee for a boding traitor.’</p> +<p>‘I knew his face,’ said Bedford, with a shudder; ‘he +belonged to Archbishop Scrope.’</p> +<p>‘A traitor, too,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘Nay, there was too much cause for his words. Never shall +I forget the day when Scrope was put to death on this very moor on which +we are entering. There sat my father on his horse, with us four +boys around him, when the old man passed in front of us, and looked +at him with a face pitiful and terrible. “Harry of Bolingbroke,” +he said, “because thou hast done these things, therefore shall +thy foes be of thine own household; the sword shall never depart therefrom, +but all the increase of thy house shall die in the flower of their age, +and in the fourth generation shall their name be clean cut off.” +The commons will have it that at that moment my father was struck with +leprosy; and struck to the heart assuredly he was, nor was he ever the +same man again. I always believed that those words made him harder +upon every prank of poor Hal’s, till any son save Hal would have +become his foe! And see now, the old bedesman may be in the right; +poor pretty Blanche has long been in her grave, Thomas is with her now, +and Jamie,’—he lowered his voice,—‘when men +say that Harry hath more of Alexander in him than there is in other +men, it strikes to my heart to think of the ring lying on the empty +throne.’</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said James, ‘what strikes <i>me</i> is, +what doleful bodings can come into a brave man’s head on a chill +morning before he has broken his fast. A tankard of hot ale will +chase away omens, whether of bishop or bedesman.’</p> +<p>‘It may chase them from the mind, but will not make away with +them,’ said John. ‘But I might have known better than +to speak to you of such things—you who are well-nigh a Lollard +in disbelief of all beyond nature.’</p> +<p>‘No Lollard am I,’ said James. ‘What Holy +Church tells me, I believe devoutly; but not in that which she bids +me loathe as either craft of devils or of men.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, of which? There lies the question,’ said John.</p> +<p>‘Of men,’ said the Scottish king; ‘of men who have +wit enough to lay hold of the weaker side even of a sober youth such +as Lord John of Lancaster! Your proneness to believe in sayings +and prophecies, in sorceries and magic, is the weakest point of all +of you.’</p> +<p>‘And it is the weakest point in you, James, that you will not +credit upon proof, such proof as was the fulfilment of the prophecy +of the place of my father’s death.’</p> +<p>‘One such saying as that, fulfilled to the ear, though not +in truth, is made the plea for all this heart-sinking—ay, and +what is worse, for the durance of your father’s widow as a witch, +and of her brave young son, because forsooth his name is Arthur of Richemont, +and some old Welsh rhymester hath whispered to Harry that Richmond shall +come out of Brittany, and be king of England.’</p> +<p>‘Arthur is no worse off than any other captive of Agincourt,’ +said Bedford; ‘and I tell you, James, the day may come when you +will rue your want of heed to timely warnings.’</p> +<p>‘Better rue once than pine under them all my life, and far +better than let them betray me into deeming some grewsome crime an act +of justice, as you may yet let them do,’ said James.</p> +<p>Such converse passed between the two princes, while King Henry rode +in advance, for the most part silent, and only desirous of reaching +Pontefract Castle, where he had left the young wife whose presence he +longed for the more in his trouble. The afternoon set in with +heavy rain, but he would not halt, although he gave free permission +to any of his suite to do so; and James recommended Malcolm to remain, +and come on the next day with Brewster. The boy, however, disclaimed +all weariness, partly because bashfulness made him unwilling to venture +from under his royal kinsman’s wing, and partly because he could +not bear to let the English suppose that a Scotsman and a Stewart could +be afraid of weather. As the rain became harder with the evening +twilight, silence sank upon the whole troop, and they went splashing +on through the deep lanes, in mud and mire, until the lights of Pontefract +Castle shimmered on high from its hill. The gates were opened, +the horses clattered in, torches came forth, flickering and hissing +in the darkness. The travellers went through what seemed to Malcolm +an interminable number of courts and gateways, and at length flung themselves +off their horses, when Henry, striding on, mounted the steps, entered +the building, and, turning the corner of a great carved screen, he and +his brother, with James and Malcolm, found themselves in the midst of +a blaze of cressets and tapers, which lighted up the wainscoted part +of the hall.</p> +<p>The whole scene was dazzling to eyes coming in from the dark, and +only after a moment or two could Malcolm perceive that, close to the +great fire, sat a party of four, playing at what he supposed to be that +French game with painted cards of which Patrick Drummond had told him, +and that the rest seemed to be in attendance upon them.</p> +<p>Dark eyed and haired, with a creamy ivory skin, and faultless form +and feature, the fair Catherine would have been unmistakable, save that +as Henry hurried forward, the lights glancing on his jaded face, matted +hair, and soaked dress, the first to spring forward to meet him was +a handsome young man, who wrung his hand, crying, ‘Ah, Harry, +Harry, then ’tis too true!’ while the lady made scarcely +a step forwards: no shade of colour tinged her delicate cheek; and though +she did not resist his fervent embrace, it was with a sort of recoil, +and all she was heard to say was, ‘<i>Eh, Messire, vos bottes +sont crottées</i>!’</p> +<p>‘You know all, Kate?’ he asked, still holding her hand, +and looking afraid of inflicting a blow.</p> +<p>‘The battle? Is it then so great a disaster?’ and, +seeing his amazed glance, ‘The poor Messire de Clarence! it was +pity of him; he was a handsome prince.’</p> +<p>‘Ah, sweet, he held thee dear,’ said Henry, catching +at the crumb of sympathy.</p> +<p>‘But yes,’ said Catherine, evidently perplexed by the +strength of his feeling, and repeating, ‘He was a <i>beau sieur +courtois</i>. But surely it will not give the Armagnacs the advantage?’</p> +<p>‘With Heaven’s aid, no! But how fares it with poor +Madge—his wife, I mean?’</p> +<p>‘She is away to her estates. She went this morn, and +wished to have taken with her the Demoiselle de Beaufort; but I forbade +that—I could not be left without one lady of the blood.’</p> +<p>‘Alack, Joan—’ and Henry was turning, but Catherine +interrupted him. ‘You have not spoken to Madame of Hainault, +nor to the Duke of Orleans. Nay, you are in no guise to speak +to any one,’ she added, looking with repugnance at the splashes +of mud that reached even to his waist.</p> +<p>‘I will don a fresh doublet, sweetheart,’ said Henry, +more rebuked than seemed fitting, ‘and be ready to sup anon.’</p> +<p>‘Supper! We supped long ago.’</p> +<p>‘That may be; but we have ridden long since we snatched our +meal, that I might be with thee the sooner, my Kate.’</p> +<p>‘That was not well in you, my Lord, to come in thus dishevelled, +steaming with wet—not like a king. You will be sick, my +Lord.’</p> +<p>The little word of solicitude recalled his sweet tender smile of +gratitude. No fear, <i>ma belle</i>; sickness dares not touch +me.’</p> +<p>‘Then,’ said the Queen, ‘you will be served in +your chamber, and we will finish our game.’</p> +<p>Henry turned submissively away; but Bedford tarried an instant to +say, ‘Fair sister, he is sore distressed. It would comfort +him to have you with him. He has longed for you.’</p> +<p>Catherine opened her beautiful brown eyes in a stare of surprise +and reproof at the infraction of the rules of ceremony which she had +brought with her. John of Bedford had never seemed to her either +<i>beau</i> or <i>courtois</i>, and she looked unutterable things, to +which he replied by an elevation of his marked eyebrows.</p> +<p>She sat down to her game, utterly ignoring the other princes in their +weather-beaten condition; and they were forced to follow the King, and +make their way to their several chambers, for Queen Catherine’s +will was law in matters of etiquette.</p> +<p>‘The proud peat! She is jealous of every word Harry speaks—even +to his cousin,’ muttered James, as he reached his own room. +‘You saw her, though,—you saw her!’ he added, smiling, +as he laid his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder.</p> +<p>The boy coloured like a poppy, and answered awkwardly enough, ‘The +Lady Joan, Sir?’</p> +<p>‘Who but the Lady Joan, thou silly lad? How say’st +thou? Will not Scotland forget in the sight of that fair face +all those fule phantasies—the only folly I heard at Glenuskie?’</p> +<p>‘Methinks,’ said Malcolm, looking down in sheer awkwardness, +‘it were easier to bow to her than to King Harry’s dame. +She hath more of stateliness.’</p> +<p>‘Humph!’ said James, ‘dost so serve thy courtly +‘prenticeship? Nay, but in a sort I see thy meaning. +The royal blood of England shows itself to one who hath an eye for princeliness +of nature.’</p> +<p>‘Nay,’ said Malcolm, gratified, ‘those dark eyes +and swart locks—’</p> +<p>‘Dark eyes—swart locks!’ interrupted the King. +‘His wits have gone wool-gathering.’</p> +<p>‘Indeed, Sir!’ exclaimed Malcolm, ‘I thought you +meant the lady who stood by the Queen’s table, with the grand +turn of the neck and the white wimple and veil.’</p> +<p>‘Pshaw!’ said James; ‘the foolish callant! he hath +taken that great brown Luxemburg nun of Dame Jac’s for the Rose +of Somerset.’</p> +<p>However, James, seeing how confounded the boy was by this momentary +displeasure, explained to him who the other persons he had seen were—Jaqueline, +the runaway Countess of Hainault in her own right, and Duchess of Brabant +by marriage; Humfrey, duke of Gloucester, the King’s young, brilliant +brother; the grave, melancholy Duke of Orleans, who had been taken captive +at Agincourt, and was at present quartered at Pontefract; the handsome, +but stout and heavy-looking Earl of March; brave Lord Warwick; Sir Lewis +Robsart, the old knight to whose charge the Queen had been specially +committed from the moment of her betrothal; and a young, bold, gay-looking +lad, of Malcolm’s own age, but far taller and stouter, and with +a merry, half-defiant, half-insouciant air, who had greatly taken his +fancy, was, he was told, Ralf Percy, the second son of Sir Harry Percy.</p> +<p>‘Of him they called Hotspur?—who was taken captive at +Otterburn, who died a rebel!’ exclaimed Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘Ay,’ said James; ‘but King Harry had learnt the +art of war as a boy, first under Hotspur, in Wales; nor doth he love +that northern fashion of ours of keeping up feud from generation to +generation. So hath he restored the eldest son to his barony, +and set him to watch our Borders; and the younger, Ralf, he is training +in his own school of chivalry.’</p> +<p>More wonders for Malcolm Stewart, who had learnt to believe it mere +dishonour and tameness to forgive the son for his father’s deeds. +A cloistered priest could hardly do so: pardon to a hostile family came +only with the last mortal throe; and here was this warlike king forgiving +as a mere matter of course!</p> +<p>‘But,’ added James, ‘you had best not speak of +your bent conventwards in the Court here. I should not like to +have you called the monkling!’</p> +<p>Malcolm crimsoned, with the resolution never to betray himself.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V: WHITTINGTON S FEAST</h2> +<p>The next day the royal train set forth from Pontefract, and ere mounting, +James presented his young kinsman to the true Joan Beaufort—fair-haired, +soft-featured, blue-eyed, and with a lovely air of graciousness, as +she greeted him with a sweet, blushing, sunny smile, half that of the +queen in anticipation, half that of the kindly maiden wishing to set +a stranger at ease. So beautiful was she, that Malcolm felt annihilated +at the thought of his blunder of last night.</p> +<p>As they rode on, James was entirely occupied with the lady, and Malcolm +was a good deal left to himself; for, though the party was numerous, +he knew no one except the Duke of Bedford, who was riding with the King +and Lord Warwick, in deep consultation, while Sir Nigel Baird, Lord +Marmion, and the rest were in the rear. He fell into a mood of +depression such as had not come upon him since he passed the border, +thinking himself despised by all for being ill-favoured and ill-dressed, +and chafing, above all, at the gay contempt he fancied in young Ralf +Percy’s eye. He became constantly more discontented with +this noisy turmoil, and more resolved to insist on returning to the +peaceful cloister where alone he could hide his head and be at rest.</p> +<p>The troop halted for what they called their noon meat at the abode +of a hospitable Yorkshire knight; but King Henry, in order that the +good gentleman’s means should not be overtasked, had given directions +that only the ladies and the princes should enter the house, while the +rest of the suite should take their meal at the village inn.</p> +<p>King James, in attending to Joan, had entirely forgotten his cousin; +and Malcolm, doubtful and diffident, was looking hesitatingly at the +gateway, when Ralf Percy called out, ‘Ha! you there, this is our +way. That is only for the royal folk; but there’s good sack +and better sport down here! I’ll show you the way,’ +he added, good-naturedly, softened, as most were, by the startled, wistful, +timid look.</p> +<p>Malcolm, ashamed to say he was royal, but surprised at the patronage, +was gratefully following, when old Bairdsbrae indignantly laid his hand +on the rein. ‘Not so, Sir; this is no place for you!’</p> +<p>‘Let me alone!’ entreated Malcolm, as he saw Percy’s +amazed look and whistle of scorn. ‘They don’t want +me.’</p> +<p>‘You will never have your place if you do not take it,’ +said the old gentleman; and leading the trembling, shrinking boy up +to the door, he continued, ‘For the honour of Scotland, Sir!’ +and then announcing Malcolm by his rank and title, he almost thrust +him in.</p> +<p>Fancying he detected a laugh on Ralf Percy’s face, and a sneer +on that of the stout English porter, Malcolm felt doubly wretched as +he was ushered into the hall and the buzz of talk and the confusion +made by the attendance of the worthy knight and his many sons, one of +whom, waiting with better will than skill, had nearly run down the shy +limping Scotsman, who looked wildly for refuge at some table. +In his height of distress, a kindly gesture of invitation beckoned to +him, and he found himself seated and addressed, first in French, and +then in careful foreign English, by the same lady whom he had yesterday +taken for Joan of Somerset, namely, Esclairmonde de Luxemburg.</p> +<p>He was too much confused to look up till the piece of pasty and the +wine with which the lady had caused him to be supplied were almost consumed, +and it was not till she had made some observations on the journey that +he became at ease enough to hazard any sort of answer, and then it was +in his sweet low Scottish voice, with that irresistibly attractive look +of shy wistful gratitude in his great soft brown eyes, while his un-English +accent caused her to say, ‘I am a stranger here, like yourself, +my Lord;’ and at the same moment he first raised his eyes to behold +what seemed to him perfect beauty and dignity, an oval face, richly-tinted +olive complexion, dark pensive eyes, a sweet grave mouth smiling with +encouraging kindness, and a lofty brow that gave the whole face a magnificent +air, not so much stately as above and beyond this world. It might +have befitted St. Barbara or St. Katherine, the great intellectual virgin +visions of purity and holiness of the middle ages; but the kindness +of the smile went to Malcolm’s heart, and emboldened him to answer +in his best French, ‘You are from Holland, lady?’</p> +<p>‘Not from the fens,’ she answered. ‘My home +lies in the borders of the forest of Ardennes.’</p> +<p>And then they found that they understood each other best when she +spoke French, and Malcolm English, or rather Scotch; and their acquaintance +made so much progress, that when the signal was again given to mount, +the Lady Esclairmonde permitted Malcolm to assist her to her saddle; +and as he rode beside her he felt pleased with himself, and as if Ralf +Percy were welcome to look at him now.</p> +<p>On Esclairmonde’s other hand there rode a small, slight girl, +whom Malcolm took for quite a child, and paid no attention to; but presently +old Sir Lewis Robsart rode back with a message that my Lady of Westmoreland +wished to know where the Lady Alice Montagu was. A gentle, timid +voice answered, ‘O Sir, I am well here with Lady Esclairmonde. +Pray tell my good lady so.’</p> +<p>And therewith Sir Lewis smiled, and said, ‘You could scarcely +be in better hands, fair damsel,’ and rode back again; while Alice +was still entreating, ‘May I stay with you, dear lady? It +is all so strange and new!’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde smiled, and said, ‘You make me at home here, Mademoiselle. +It is I who am the stranger!’</p> +<p>‘Ah! but you have been in Courts before. I never lived +anywhere but at Middleham Castle till they fetched me away to meet the +Queen.’</p> +<p>For the gentle little maiden, a slender, fair-haired, childish-faced +creature, in her sixteenth year, was the motherless child and heiress +of the stout Earl of Salisbury, the last of the Montacutes, or Montagues, +who was at present fighting the King’s battles in France, but +had sent his commands that she should be brought to Court, in preparation +for fulfilling the long-arranged contract between her and Sir Richard +Nevil, one of the twenty-two children of the Earl of Westmoreland.</p> +<p>She was under the charge of the Countess—a stately dame, with +all the Beaufort pride; and much afraid of her she was, as everything +that was shy or forlorn seemed to turn towards the maiden whose countenance +not only promised kindness but protection.</p> +<p>Presently the cavalcade passed a gray building in the midst of green +fields and orchards, where, under the trees, some black-veiled figures +sat spinning.</p> +<p>‘A nunnery!’ quoth Esclairmonde, looking eagerly after +it as she rode past.</p> +<p>‘A nunnery!’ said Malcolm, encouraged into the simple +confidingness of a young boy. ‘How unlike the one where +my sister is! Not a tree is near it; it is perched upon a wild +crag overhanging the angry sea, and the winds roar, and the gulls and +eagles scream, and the waves thunder round it!’</p> +<p>‘Yet it is not the less a haven of peace,’ replied Esclairmonde.</p> +<p>‘Verily,’ said Malcolm, ‘one knows what peace is +under that cloister, where all is calm while the winds rave without.’</p> +<p>‘You know how to love a cloister,’ said the lady, as +she heard his soft, sad tones.</p> +<p>‘I had promised myself to make my home in one,’ said +Malcolm; ‘but my King will have me make trial of the world first. +And so please you,’ he added, recollecting himself, ‘he +forbade me to make my purpose known; so pray, lady, be so good as to +forget what I have said.’</p> +<p>‘I will be silent,’ said Esclairmonde; ‘but I will +not forget, for I look on you as one like myself, my young lord. +I too am dedicated, and only longing to reach my cloistered haven.’</p> +<p>She spoke it out with the ease of those days when the monastic was +as recognized a profession as any other calling, and yet with something +of the desire to make it evident on what ground she stood.</p> +<p>Lady Alice uttered an exclamation of surprise.</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Esclairmonde, ‘I was dedicated his +my infancy, and promised myself in the nunnery at Dijon when I was seven +years old.’</p> +<p>Then, as if to turn the conversation from herself, she asked of Malcolm +if he too had made any vow.</p> +<p>‘Only to myself,’ said Malcolm. ‘Neither +my Tutor nor the Prior of Coldingham would hear my vows.’ +And he was soon drawn into telling his whole story, to which the ladies +both listened with great interest and kindness, Esclairmonde commending +his resolution to leave the care of his lands and vassals to one whom +he represented as so much better fitted to bear them as Patrick Drummond, +and only regretting the silence King James had enjoined, saying she +felt that there was safety and protection in being avowed as a destined +religious.</p> +<p>‘And you are one,’ said Lady Alice, looking at her in +wonder. ‘And yet you are with <i>that</i> lady—’ +And the girl’s innocent face expressed a certain wonder and disgust +that no one could marvel at who had heard the Flemish Countess talk +in the loudest, broadest, most hoydenish style.</p> +<p>‘She has been my very good lady,’ said Esclairmonde; +‘she has, under the saints, saved me from much.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I entreat you, tell us, dear lady!’ entreated Alice. +It was not a reticent age. Malcolm Stewart had already avowed +himself in his own estimation pledged to a monastic life, and Esclairmonde +of Luxemburg had reasons for wishing her position and intentions to +be distinctly understood by all with whom she came in contact; moreover, +there was a certain congeniality in both her companions, their innocence +and simplicity, that drew out confidence, and impelled her to defend +her lady.</p> +<p>‘My poor Countess,’ she said, ‘she has been sorely +used, and has suffered much. It is a piteous thing when our little +imperial fiefs go to the spindle side!’</p> +<p>‘What are her lands?’ asked Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘Hainault, Holland, and Zealand,’ replied the lady. +‘Her father was Count of Hainault, her mother the sister of the +last Duke of Burgundy—him that was slain on the bridge of Montereau. +She was married as a mere babe to the Duke of Touraine, who was for +a brief time Dauphin, but he died ere she was sixteen, and her father +died at the same time. Some say they both were poisoned. +The saints forfend it should be true; but thus it was my poor Countess +was left desolate, and her uncle, the Bishop of Liége—Jean +Sans Pitié, as they call him—claimed her inheritance. +You should have seen how undaunted she was!’</p> +<p>‘Were you with her then?’ asked Alice Montagu.</p> +<p>‘Yes. I had been taken from our convent at Dijon, when +my dear brothers, to whom Heaven be merciful! died at Azincourt. +My <i>oncles à la mode de Bretagne</i>—how call you it +in English?’</p> +<p>‘Welsh uncles,’ said Alice.</p> +<p>‘They are the Count de St. Pol and the Bishop of Thérouenne. +They came to Dijon. In another month I should have been seventeen, +and been admitted as a novice; but, alack! there were all the lands +that came through my grandmother, in Holland and in Flanders, all falling +to me, and Monseigneur of Thérouenne, like almost all secular +clergy, cannot endure the religious orders, and would not hear of my +becoming a Sister. They took me away, and the Bishop declared +my dedication null, and they would have bestowed me in marriage at once, +I believe, if Heaven had not aided me, and they could not agree on the +person. And then my dear Countess promised me that she would never +let me be given without my free will.’</p> +<p>‘Then,’ said Alice, ‘the Bishop did cancel your +dedication?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Esclairmonde; ‘but none can cancel +the dedication of my heart. So said the holy man at Zwoll.’</p> +<p>‘How, lady?’ anxiously inquired Malcolm; ‘has not +a bishop power to bind and unloose?’</p> +<p>‘Yea,’ said Esclairmonde, ‘such power that if my +childish promise had been made without purpose or conscience thereof, +or indeed if my will were not with it, it would bind me no more, there +were no sin in wedlock for me, no broken vow. But my own conscience +of my vow, and my sense that I belong to my Heavenly Spouse, proved, +he said, that it was not my duty to give myself to another, and that +whereas none have a parent’s right over me, if I have indeed chosen +the better part, He to whom I have promised myself will not let it be +taken from me, though I might have to bear much for His sake. +And when I said in presumption that such would lie light on me, he bade +me speak less and pray more, for I knew not the cost.’</p> +<p>‘He must have been a very holy man,’ said Alice, ‘and +strict withal. Who was he?’</p> +<p>‘One Father Thomas, a Canon Regular of the chapter of St. Agnes, +a very saint, who spends his life in copying and illuminating the Holy +Scripture, and in writing holy thoughts that verily seem to have been +breathed into him by special inspiration of God. It was a sermon +of his in Lent, upon chastening and perplexity, that I heard when first +I was snatched from Dijon, that made me never rest till I had obtained +his ghostly counsel. If I never meet him again, I shall thank +Heaven for those months at Zwoll all my life—ere the Duke of Burgundy +made my Countess resign Holland for twelve years to her uncle, and we +left the place. Then, well-nigh against her will, they forced +her into a marriage with the Duke of Brabant, though he be her first +cousin, her godson, and a mere rude boy. I cannot tell you how +evil were the days we often had then. If he had been left to himself, +Madame might have guided him; but ill men came about him; they maddened +him with wine and beer; they excited him to show that he feared her +not; he struck her, and more than once almost put her in danger of her +life. Then, too, his mother married the Bishop of Liége, +her enemy—</p> +<p>‘The Bishop!’</p> +<p>‘He had never been consecrated, and had a dispensation. +That marriage deprived my poor lady of even her mother’s help. +All were against her then; and for me too it went ill, for the Duke +of Burgundy insisted on my being given to a half-brother of his, one +they call Sir Boëmond of Burgundy—a hard man of blood and +revelry. The Duke of Brabant was all for him, and so was the Duchess-mother; +and though my uncles would not have chosen him, yet they durst not withstand +the Duke of Burgundy. I tried to appeal to the Emperor Sigismund, +the head of our house, but I know not if he ever heard of my petition. +I was in an exceeding strait, and had only one trust, namely, that Father +Thomas had told me that the more I threw myself upon God, the more He +would save me from man. But oh! they seemed all closing in on +me, and I knew that Sir Boëmond had sworn that I should pay heavily +for my resistance. Then one night my Countess came to me. +She showed me the bruises her lord had left on her arms, and told me +that he was about to banish all of us, her ladies, into Holland, and +to keep her alone to bear his fury, and she was resolved to escape, +and would I come with her? It seemed to me the message of deliverance. +Her nurse brought us peasant dresses, high stiff caps, black boddices, +petticoats of many colours, and therein we dressed ourselves, and stole +out, ere dawn, to a church, where we knelt till the Sieur d’Escaillon—the +gentleman who attends Madame still—drove up in a farmer’s +garb, with a market cart, and so forth from Bruges we drove. We +cause to Valenciennes, to her mother; but we found that she, by persuasion +of the Duke, would give us both up; so the Sieur d’Escaillon got +together sixty lances, and therewith we rode to Calais, where never +were weary travellers more courteously received than we by Lord Northumberland, +the captain of Calais.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, I am glad you came to us English!’ cried Alice. +‘Only I would it had been my father who welcomed you. And +now?’</p> +<p>‘Now I remain with my lady, as the only demoiselle she has +from her country; and, moreover, I am waiting in the trust that my kinsmen +will give up their purpose of bestowing me in marriage, now that I am +beyond their reach; and in time I hope to obtain sufficient of my own +goods for a dowry for whatever convent I may enter.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, let it be an English one!’ cried Alice.</p> +<p>‘I have learnt to breathe freer since I have been on English +soil,’ said Esclairmonde, smiling; ‘but where I may rest +at last, Heaven only knows!’</p> +<p>‘This is a strange country,’ said Malcolm. ‘No +one seems afraid of violence and wrong here.’</p> +<p>‘Is that so strange?’ asked Alice, amazed. ‘Why, +men would be hanged if they did violence!’</p> +<p>‘I would we were as sure of justice at my home,’ sighed +Esclairmonde. ‘King Henry will bring about a better rule.’</p> +<p>‘Never doubt,’ cried Salisbury’s daughter. +‘When France is once subdued, there will be no more trouble, he +will make your kinsmen do you right, dear demoiselle, and oh! will you +not found a beauteous convent?’</p> +<p>‘King Henry has not conquered France yet,’ was all Esclairmonde +said.</p> +<p>‘Ha!’ cried the buxom Countess Jaqueline, as the ladies +dismounted, ‘never speak to me more, our solemn sister. +When have I done worse than lure a young cavalier, and chain him all +day with my tongue?’</p> +<p>‘He is a gentle boy!’ said Esclairmonde, smiling.</p> +<p>‘Truly he looked like a calf turned loose among strange cattle! +How gat he into the hall?’</p> +<p>‘He is of royal Scottish blood,’ said Esclairmonde ‘cousin-german +to King James.’</p> +<p>‘And our grave nun has a fancy to tame the wild Scots, like +a second St. Margaret! A king’s grandson! fie, fie! what, +become ambitious, Clairette? Eh? you were so occupied, that I +should have been left to no one but Monseigneur of Gloucester, but that +I was discreet, and rode with my Lord Bishop of Winchester. How +he chafed! but I know better than to have <i>tête-à-têtes</i> +with young sprigs of the blood royal!’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde laughed good-humouredly, partly in courtesy to her hoyden +mistress, but partly at the burning, blushing indignation she beheld +in the artless face of Alice Montagu.</p> +<p>The girl was as shy as a fawn, frightened at every word from knight +or lady, and much in awe of her future mother-in-law, a stiff and stately +dame, with all the Beaufort haughtiness; so that Lady Westmoreland gladly +and graciously consented to the offer of the Demoiselle de Luxemburg +to attend to the little maiden, and let her share her chamber and her +bed. And indeed Alice Montagu, bred up in strictness and in both +piety and learning, as was sometimes the case with the daughters of +the nobility, had in all her simplicity and bashfulness a purity and +depth that made her a congenial spirit with the grave votaress, whom +she regarded on her side with a young girl’s enthusiastic admiration +for a grown woman, although in point of fact the years between them +were few.</p> +<p>The other ladies of the Court were a little in awe of the Demoiselle +de Luxemburg, and did not seek her when they wished to indulge in the +gossip whose malice and coarseness she kept in check; but if they were +anxious, or in trouble, they always came to her as their natural consoler; +and the Countess Jaqueline, bold and hoydenish as she was, kept the +license of her tongue and manners under some shadow of restraint before +her, and though sometimes bantering her, often neglecting her counsel, +evidently felt her attendance a sort of safeguard and protection.</p> +<p>The gentlemen were mostly of the opinion of the Duke of Gloucester, +who said that the Lady Esclairmonde was so like Deborah, come out of +a Mystery, that it seemed to be always Passion-tide where she was; and +she, moreover, was always guarded in her manner towards them, keeping +her vocation in the recollection of all by her gravely and coldly courteous +demeanour, and the sober hues and fashion of her dress; but being aware +of Malcolm’s destination, perceiving his loneliness, and really +attracted by his pensive gentleness, she admitted him to far more friendly +intercourse than any other young noble, while he revered and clung to +her much as Lady Alice did, as protector and friend.</p> +<p>King James was indeed so much absorbed in his own lady-love as to +have little attention to bestow on his young cousin, and he knew, moreover, +that to be left to such womanly training as ladies were bound to bestow +on young squires and pages was the best treatment for the youth, who +was really thriving and growing happier every day, as he lost his awkwardness +and acquired a freedom and self-confidence such as he could never have +imagined possible in his original brow-beaten state, though without +losing the gentle modesty and refinement that gave him such a charm.</p> +<p>A great sorrow awaited him, however, at Leicester, where Easter was +to be spent. A messenger came from Durham, bringing letters from +Coldingham to announce the death of good Sir David Drummond, which had +taken place two days after Malcolm had left him, all but the youth himself +having well known that his state was hopeless.</p> +<p>In his grief, Malcolm found his chief comforter in Esclairmonde, +who kindly listened when he talked of the happy old times at Glenuskie, +and of the kindness and piety of his guardian; while she lifted his +mind to dwell on the company of the saints; and when he knew that her +thoughts went, like his, to his fatherly friend in the solemn services +connected with the departed, he was no longer desolate, and there was +almost a sweetness in the grief of which his fair saint had taken up +a part. She showed him likewise some vellum pages on which her +ghostly father, the Canon of St. Agnes, had written certain dialogues +between the Divine Master and His disciple, which seemed indeed to have +been whispered by heavenly inspiration, and which soothed and hallowed +his mourning for the guide and protector of his youth. He loved +to dwell on her very name, Esclairmonde—‘light of the world.’ +The taste of the day hung many a pun and conceit upon names, and to +Malcolm this—which had, in fact, been culled out of romance—seemed +meetly to express the pure radiance of consolation and encouragement +that seemed to him to shine from her, and brighten the life that had +hitherto been dull and gloomy—nay, even to give him light and +joy in the midst of his grief.</p> +<p>At that period Courts were not much burdened with etiquette. +No feudal monarch was more than the first gentleman, and there was no +rigid line of separation of ranks, especially where, as among the kings +of the Red Rose, the boundaries were so faint between the princes and +the nobility; and as Catherine of Valois was fond of company, and indolently +heedless of all that did not affect her own dignity or ease, the whole +Court, including some of the princely captives, lived as one large family, +meeting at morning Mass in church or chapel, taking their meals in common, +riding, hunting, hawking, playing at bowls, tennis, or stool-ball, or +any other pastime, in such parties as suited their inclinations; and +spending the evening in the great hall, in conversation varied by chess, +dice, and cards, recitals of romance, and music, sometimes performed +by the choristers of the Royal chapel, or sometimes by the company themselves, +and often by one or other of the two kings, who were both proficients +as well with the voice as with the lute and organ.</p> +<p>Thus Malcolm had many opportunities of being with the Demoiselle +of Luxemburg: and almost a right was established, that when she sat +in the deep embrasure of a window with her spinning, he should be on +the cushioned step beneath; when she mounted, he held the stirrup; and +when the church bells were ringing, he led her by her fair fingers to +her place in the nave, and back again to the hall; and when the manchet +and rere supper were brought into the hall, he mixed her wine and water, +and held the silver basin and napkin to her on bended knee, and had +become her recognized cavalier. He was really thriving. +Even the high-spirited son of Hotspur could not help loving and protecting +him.</p> +<p>‘Have a care,’ said Ralf to a lad of ruder mould; ‘I’ll +no more see that lame young Scot maltreated than a girl.’</p> +<p>‘He is no better than a girl,’ growled his comrade; ‘my +little brother Dick would be more than a match for him!’</p> +<p>‘I wot not that,’ said Percy; ‘there’s a +drop of life and spirit at the bottom; and for the rest, when he looks +up with those eyes of his, and smiles his smile, it is somehow as if +it were beneath a man to vex him wilfully. And he sees so much +meaning in everything, too, that it is a dozen times better sport to +hear him talk than one of you fellows, who have only wit enough to know +a hawk from a heron-schaw.’</p> +<p>After a grave Easter-tide spent at Leicester, the Court moved to +Westminster, where Henry had to meet his parliament, and obtain supplies +for the campaign which was to revenge the death of Clarence.</p> +<p>There was no great increase of gaiety even here, for Henry was extremely +occupied, both with regulating matters for government during his absence, +and in training the troops who began to flock to his standard; so that +the Queen complained that his presence in England was of little service +to her, since he never had any leisure, and there were no pastimes.</p> +<p>‘Well, Dame,’ said Henry, gaily, ‘there is one +revel for you. I have promised to knight the Lord Mayor, honest +Whittington, and I hear he is preparing a notable banquet in the Guild +Hall.’</p> +<p>‘A city mayor!’ exclaimed Queen Catherine, with ineffable +disgust. ‘My brothers would sooner cut off his <i>roturier</i> +head than dub him knight!’</p> +<p>‘Belike,’ said Henry, dryly; ‘but what kind of +friends have thy brothers found at Paris? Moreover, this Whittington +may content thee as to blood. Rougedragon hath been unfolding +to me his lineage of a good house in Gloucestershire.’</p> +<p>‘More shame that he should soil his hands with trade!’ +said the Queen.</p> +<p>‘See what you say when he has cased those fair hands in Spanish +gloves. You ladies should know better than to fall out with a +mercer.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said Duke Humfrey, ‘they never saw the silks +and samites wherewith he fitted out my sister Philippa for the Swedes! +Lucky the bride whose wardrobe is purveyed by honest Dick!’</p> +<p>‘Is it not honour enough for the mechanical hinds that we wear +their stuffs,’ said Countess Jaqueline, ‘without demeaning +ourselves to eat at their boards? The <i>outrecuidance</i> of +the rogues in the Netherlands would be surpassing, did we feed it in +that sort.’</p> +<p>‘’Tis you that will be fed, Dame Jac,’ laughed +Henry. ‘I can tell you, their sack and their pasties, their +march-pane and blanc-manger, far exceed aught that a poor soldier can +set before you.’</p> +<p>‘Moreover,’ observed Humfrey, ‘the ladies ought +to see the romaunt of the Cat complete.’</p> +<p>‘How!’ cried Jaqueline, ‘is it, then, true that +this Vittentone is the miller’s son whose cat wore boots and made +his fortune?’</p> +<p>‘I have heard my aunt of Orleans divert my father with that +story,’ murmured Catherine. ‘How went the tale? +I thought it folly, and marked it not. What became of the cat?’</p> +<p>‘The cat desired to test his master’s gratitude, so tells +Straparola,’ said the Duke of Orleans, in his dry satirical tone; +‘and whereas he had been wont to promise his benefactor a golden +coffin and state funeral, Puss feigned death, and thereby heard the +lady inform her husband that the old cat was dead. “<i>A +la bonne heure</i>!” said the Marquis. “Take him by +the tail, and fling him on the muck-heap beneath the window!”’</p> +<p>‘Thereof I acquit Whittington, who never was thankless to man +or brute,’ said King Henry. ‘Moreover, his cat, or +her grandchildren, must be now in high preferment at the King of Barbary’s +Court.’</p> +<p>‘A marvellous beast is that cat,’ said James. ‘When +I was a child in Scotland, we used to tell the story of her exchange +for a freight of gold and spices, only the ship sailed from Denmark,’</p> +<p>‘Maybe,’ said Henry; ‘but I would maintain the +truth of Whittington’s cat with my lance, and would gladly have +no worse cause! You’ll see his cat painted beside him in +the Guild Hall, and may hear the tale from him, as I loved to hear him +when I was a lad.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Turn again, Whittington,<br /> +Thrice Lord Mayor of London town!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I told my good old friend I must have come over from France on purpose +to keep his third mayoralty. So I am for the City on Thursday; +and whoever loves good wine, good sturgeon, good gold, or good men, +had best come with me.’</p> +<p>Such inducements were not to be neglected, and though Queen Catherine +minced and bridled, and apologized to Duchess Jaqueline for her husband’s +taste for low company, neither princess wished to forego the chance +of amusement; and a brilliant cavalcade set forth in full order of precedence. +The King and Queen were first; then, to his great disgust, the King +of Scots, with Duchess Jaqueline; Bedford, with Lady Somerset; Gloucester, +with the Countess of March; the Duke of Orleans, with the Countess of +Exeter; and Malcolm of Glenuskie found himself paired off with his sovereign’s +lady-love, Joan Beaufort, and a good deal overawed by the tall horned +tower that crowned her flaxen locks, as well as by knowing that her +uncle, the Bishop of Winchester, the stateliest, stiffest, and most +unapproachable person in all the Court, was riding just behind him, +beside the Demoiselle de Luxemburg.</p> +<p>Temple Bar was closed, and there was a flourish of trumpets and a +parley ere the gate was flung open to admit the royal guests; but Malcolm, +in his place, could not see the aldermen on horseback, in their robes +of scarlet and white, drawn up to receive the King. All that way +up Holborn, every house was hung with tapestry, and the citizens formed +a gorgeously-apparelled lane, shouting in unison, their greetings attuned +to bursts of music from trumpets and nakers.</p> +<p>Beautiful old St. Paul’s, with the exquisite cross for open-air +preaching in front, rose on their view; and before the lofty west door +the princely guests dismounted, each gentleman leading his lady up the +nave to the seat prepared in such manner that he might be opposite to +her. The clergy lined the stalls, and a magnificent mass was sung, +and was concluded by the advance of the King to the altar step, followed +by a fine old man in scarlet robes bordered with white fur, the collar +of SS. round his neck, and his silvery hair and lofty brow crowning +a face as sagacious as it was dignified and benevolent.</p> +<p>It seemed a reversal of the ordinary ceremonial when the slender +agile young man took in hand the sword, and laid the honour of knighthood +on the gray-headed substantial senior, whom he bade to arise Sir Richard +Whittington. Jaqueline of Hainault had the bad taste to glance +across to Humfrey and titter, but the Duke valued popularity among the +citizens, and would not catch her eye; and in the line behind the royal +ladies there was a sweet elderly face, beautiful, though time-worn, +with blue eyes misty with proud glad tears, and a mouth trembling with +tender exultation.</p> +<p>After the ceremony was concluded, King Henry offered his hand to +the Lady Mayoress, Dame Alice Whittington, making her bright tears drop +in glad confusion at his frank, hearty congratulation and warm praise +of her husband; and though the fair Catherine could have shuddered when +Sir Richard advanced to lead her, she was too royal to compromise her +dignity by visible scorn, and she soon found that the merchant could +speak much better French than most of the nobles.</p> +<p>Malcolm felt as averse as did the French princesses to burgher wealth +and splendour, and his mind had not opened to understand burgher worth +and weight; and when he saw the princes John and Humfrey, and even his +own king, seeking out city dames and accosting them with friendly looks, +it seemed to him a degrading truckling to riches, from which he was +anxious to save his future queen; but when he would have offered his +arm to Lady Joan, he saw her already being led away by an alderman measuring +at least a yard across the shoulders; and the good-natured Earl of March, +seeing him at a loss, presented him to a round merry wife in a scarlet +petticoat and black boddice, its plump curves wreathed with geld chains, +who began pitying him for having been sent to the wars so young, being, +as usual, charmed into pity by his soft appealing eyes and unconscious +grace; would not believe his assertions that he was neither a captive +nor a Frenchman;—‘don’t tell her, when he spoke like +a stranger, and halted from a wound.’</p> +<p>Colouring to the ears, he explained that he had never walked otherwise; +whereupon her pity redoubled, and she by turns advised him to consult +Master Doctor Caius, and to obtain a recipe from Mistress—she +meant Dame—Alice Whittington, the kindest soul living, and, Lady +Mayoress as she was, with no more pride than the meanest scullion. +Pity she had no child—yet scarce pity either, since she and the +good Lord Mayor were father and mother to all orphans and destitute—nay, +to all who had any care on their minds.</p> +<p>Malcolm was in extreme alarm lest he should be walked up to the Lady +Mayoress for inspection before all the world when they entered the Guild +Hall, a building of grand proportions, which, as good Mistress Bolt +informed him, had lately been paved and glazed at Sir Richard Whittington’s +own expense. The bright new red and yellow tiles, and the stained +glass of the tall windows high up, as well as the panels of the wainscot, +were embellished with trade-marks and the armorial bearings of the guilds; +and the long tables, hung with snowy napery, groaned with gold and silver +plate, such as, the Duke of Orleans observed to Catherine, no citizens +would dare exhibit in France to any prince or noble, at peril of being +mulcted of all, with or without excuse.</p> +<p>On an open hearth beneath the louvre, or opening for smoke, burnt +a fire diffusing all around an incense-like fragrance, from the logs, +composed of cinnamon and other choice woods and spices, that fed the +flame. The odour and the warmth on a bleak day of May were alike +delicious; and King Henry, after heading Dame Alice up to it, stood +warming his hands and extolling the choice scent, adding: ‘You +spoil us, Sir Richard. How are we to go back to the smoke of wood +and peat, and fires puffed with our own mouths, after such pampering +as this—the costliest fire I have seen in the two realms?’</p> +<p>‘It shall be choicer yet, Sir,’ said Sir Richard Whittington, +who had just handed the Queen to her seat.</p> +<p>‘Scarce possible,’ replied Henry, ‘unless I threw +in my crown, and that I cannot afford. I shall be pawning it ere +long.’</p> +<p>Instead of answering, the Lord Mayor quietly put his hand into his +furred pouch, and drawing out a bundle of parchments tied with a ribbon, +held them towards the King, with a grave smile.</p> +<p>‘Lo you now, Sir Richard,’ said Henry, with a playful +face of disgust; ‘this is to save your dainty meats, by spoiling +my appetite by that unwelcome sight. What, man! have you bought +up all the bonds I gave in my need to a whole synagogue of Jews and +bench of Loin-bards? I shall have to send for my crown before +you let me go; though verily,’ he added, with frank, open face, +‘I’m better off with a good friend like you for my creditor—only +I’m sorry for you, Sir Richard. I fear it will be long ere +you see your good gold in the stead of your dirty paper, even though +I gave you an order on the tolls. How now! What, man, Dick +Whittington! Art raving? Here, the tongs!’</p> +<p>For Sir Richard, gently smiling, had placed the bundle of bonds on +the glowing bed of embers.</p> +<p>Henry, even while calling for the tongs, was raking them out with +his sword, and would have grasped them in his hand in a moment, but +the Lord Mayor caught his arm.</p> +<p>‘Pardon, my lord, and grant your new knight’s boon.’</p> +<p>‘When he is not moon-struck!’ said Henry, still guarding +the documents. ‘Why, my Lady Mayoress, know you what is +here?’</p> +<p>‘Sixty thousand, my liege,’ composedly answered Dame +Alice. ‘My husband hath his whims, and I pray your Grace +not to hinder what he hath so long been preparing.’</p> +<p>‘Yea, Sir,’ added Whittington, earnestly. ‘You +wot that God hath prospered us richly. We have no child, and our +nephews are well endowed. How, then, can our goods belong to any +save God, our king, and the poor?’</p> +<p>Henry drew one hand over his eyes, and with the other wrung that +of Whittington. ‘Had ever king such a subject?’ he +murmured.</p> +<p>‘Had ever subject such a king?’ was Whittington’s +return.</p> +<p>‘Thou hast conquered, Whittington,’ said the King, presently +looking up with a sunny smile. ‘To send me over the seas +a free man, beholden to you in heart though not by purse, is, as I well +believe, worth all that sum to thy loyal heart. Thou art setting +me far on my way to Jerusalem, my dear friend! Thank him, Kate—he +hath done much for thine husband!’</p> +<p>Catherine looked amiable, and held out a white hand to be kissed, +aware that the King was pleased, though hardly understanding why he +should be glad that an odour of singed parchment should overpower the +gums and cinnamon. This was soon remedied by the fresh handful +of spices that were cast into the flame, and the banquet began, magnificent +with peacocks, cranes, and swans in full plumage; the tusky bear crunched +his apple, deer’s antlers adorned the haunch, the royal sturgeon +floated in wine, fountains of perfumed waters sprang up from shells, +towers of pastry and of jelly presented the endless allegorical devices +of mediæval fancy, and, pre-eminent over all, a figure of the +cat, with emerald eyes, fulfilled, as Henry said, the proverb, ‘A +cat might look at a king;’ and truly the cat and her master had +earned the right; therefore his first toast was, ‘To the Cat!’</p> +<p>Each guest found at his or her place a beautiful fragrant pair of +gloves, in Spanish leather, on the back of which was once more embroidered, +in all her tabby charms, the cat’s face. Therewith began +a lengthy meal; and Malcolm Stewart rejoiced at finding himself seated +next to the Lady Esclairmonde, but he grudged her attention to her companion, +a slender, dark, thoughtful representative of the Goldsmiths’ +Company, to whom she talked with courtesy such as Malcolm had scorned +to show his city dame.</p> +<p>‘Who,’ said Esclairmonde, presently, ‘was a dame +in a religious garb whom I marked near the door here? She hooked +like one of the Béguines of my own country.’</p> +<p>‘We have no such order here, lady,’ said the goldsmiths, +puzzled.</p> +<p>‘Hey, Master Price,’ cried Mistress Bolt, speaking across +Malcolm, ‘I can tell the lady who it was. ’Twas good +Sister Avice Rodney, to whom the Lady Mayoress promised some of these +curious cooling drinks for the poor shipwright who hath well-nigh cloven +off his own foot with his axe.’</p> +<p>‘Yea, truly,’ returned the goldsmith; ‘it must +have been one of the bedeswomen of St. Katharine’s whom the lady +has seen.’</p> +<p>‘What order may that be?’ asked Esclairmonde. ‘I +have seen nothing so like my own country since I came hither.’</p> +<p>‘That may well be, madam,’ said Mistress Belt, ‘seeing +that these bedeswomen were first instituted by a countrywoman of your +own—Queen Philippa, of blessed memory.’</p> +<p>‘By your leave, Mistress Bolt,’ interposed Master Price, +‘the hospital of St. Katharine by the Tower is of far older foundation.’</p> +<p>‘By <i>your</i> leave, sir, I know what I say. The hospital +was founded I know not when, but these bedeswomen were especially added +by the good Queen, by the same token that mine aunt Cis, who was tirewoman +to the blessed Lady Joan, was one of the first.’</p> +<p>‘How was it? What is their office?’ eagerly inquired +Esclairmonde. And Mistress Bolt arranged herself for a long discourse.</p> +<p>‘Well, fair sirs and sweet lady, though you be younger than +I, you have surely heard of the Black Death. Well named was it, +for never was pestilence more dire; and the venom was so strong, that +the very lips and eyelids grew livid black, and then there was no hope. +Little thought of such disease was there, I trow, in kings’ houses, +and all the fair young lords and ladies, the children of King Edward, +as then was, were full of sport and gamesomeness as you see these dukes +be now. And never a one was blither than the Lady Joan—she +they called Joan of the Tower, being a true Londoner born—bless +her! My aunt Cis would talk by the hour of her pretty ways and +kindly mirth. But ’twas even as the children have the game +in the streets—</p> +<blockquote><p>“There come three knights all out of Spain,<br /> +Are come to fetch your daughter Jane.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>’Twas for the King of Castille, that same Peter for whom the +Black Prince of Wales fought, and of whom such grewsome tales were told. +The pretty princess might almost have had a boding what sort of husband +they had for her, for she begged and prayed, even on her knees, that +her father would leave her; but her sisters were all espoused, and there +was no help for it. But, as one comfort to her, my aunt Cis, who +had been about her from her cradle, was to go with her; and oft she +would tell of the long journey in litters through France, and how welcome +were the English tongues they heard again at Bordeaux, and how when +poor Lady Joan saw her brother, the Prince, she clung about his neck +and sobbed, and how he soothed her, and said she would soon laugh at +her own unwillingness to go to her husband. But even then the +Black Death was in Bordeaux, and being low and mournful at heart, the +sweet maid contracted it, and lay down to die ere she had made two days’ +journey, and her last words were, “My God hath shown me more pity +than father or brother;” and so she died like a lamb, and mine +aunt was sent by the Prince to bear home the tidings to the good Queen, +who was a woeful woman. And therewith, here was the pestilence +in London, raging among the poor creatures that lived in the wharves +and on the river bank, in damp and filth, so that whole households lay +dead at once, and the contagion, gathering force, spread into the city, +and even to the nobles and their ladies. Then my good aunt, having +some knowledge of the sickness already, and being without fear, went +among the sick, and by her care, and the food, wine, and clothing she +brought, saved a many lives. And from whom should the bounties +come, save from the good Queen, who ever had a great pity for those +touched like her own fair child? Moreover, when she heard from +my aunt how the poor things lived in uncleanness and filth, and how, +what with many being strangers coming by sea, and others being serfs +fled from home, they were a nameless, masterless sort, who knew not +where to seek a parish priest, and whom the friars shunned for their +poverty, she devised a fresh foundation to be added to the hospital +of St. Katharine’s in the Docks, providing for a chapter of ten +bedeswomen, gentle and well-nurtured, who should both sing in choir, +and likewise go forth constantly among the poor, to seek out the children, +see that they learn their Credo, Ave, and Pater Noster, bring the more +toward to be further taught in St. Katharine’s school, and likewise +to stir poor folk up to go to mass and lead a godly life; to visit the +sick, feed and tend them, and so instruct them, that they may desire +the Sacraments of the Church.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! good Flemish Queen!’ cried Esclairmonde. ‘She +learnt that of our Béguines!’</p> +<p>‘If your ladyship will have it so,’ said Mrs. Bolt; ‘but +my aunt Cicely began!’</p> +<p>‘Who nominates these bedeswomen?’ asked Esclairmonde.</p> +<p>‘That does the Queen,’ said Mistress Bolt. ‘Not +this young Queen, as yet, for Queen Joan, the late King’s widow, +holds the hospital till her death, unless it should be taken from her +for her sorceries, from which Heaven defend us!’</p> +<p>‘Can it be visited?’ said Esclairmonde. ‘I +feel much drawn thither, as I ever did to the Béguines.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, marry may it!’ cried delighted Mrs. Bolt. +‘I have more than one gossip there, foreby Sister Avice, who was +godchild to Aunt Cis; and if the good lady would wish to see the hospital, +I would bear her company with all my heart.’</p> +<p>To Malcolm’s disgust, Esclairmonde caught at the proposal, +which the Scottish haughtiness that lay under all his gentleness held +somewhat degrading to the cousin of the Emperor. He fell into +a state of gloom, which lasted till the loving-cup had gone round and +been partaken of in pairs.</p> +<p>After hands had been washed in rose-water, the royal party took their +seats in barges to return to Westminster by the broad and beautiful +highway of the Thames.</p> +<p>Here at once Alice Montagu nestled to Esclairmonde’s side, +delighted with her cat gloves, and further delighted with an old captain +of trained bands, to whose lot she had fallen, and who, on finding that +she was the daughter of the Earl of Salisbury, under whom he had served, +had launched forth by the hour into the praises of that brave nobleman, +both for his courage and his kindness to his troops.</p> +<p>‘No wonder King Henry loves his citizens so well!’ cried +Esclairmonde. ‘Would that our Netherlandish princes and +burghers could take pride and pleasure in one another’s wealth +and prowess, instead of grudging and fearing thereat!’</p> +<p>‘To my mind,’ said Malcolm, ‘they were a forward +generation. That city dame will burst with pride, if you, lady, +go with her to see those bedeswomen.’</p> +<p>‘I trust not,’ laughed Esclairmonde, ‘for I mean +to try.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, but,’ said Malcolm, ‘what should a mere matter +of old rockers and worn-out tirewomen concern a demoiselle of birth?’</p> +<p>‘I honour them for doing their Master’s work,’ +said Esclairmonde, ‘and would fain be worthy to follow in their +steps.’</p> +<p>‘Surely,’ said Malcolm, ‘there are houses fit for +persons of high and princely birth to live apart from gross contact +with the world.’</p> +<p>‘There are,’ said Esclairmonde; ‘but I trust I +may be pardoned for saying that such often seem to me to play at humility +when they stickle for birth and dower with the haughtiest. I never +honoured any nuns so much as the humble Sisters of St. Begga, who never +ask for sixteen quarterings, but only for a tender hand, soft step, +pure life, and pious heart.’</p> +<p>‘I deemed,’ said Malcolm, ‘that heavenly contemplation +was the purpose of convents.’</p> +<p>‘Even so, for such as can contemplate like the holy man I have +told you of,’ said Esclairmonde; ‘but labour hath been greatly +laid aside in convents of late, and I doubt me if it be well, or if +their prayers be the better for it.’</p> +<p>‘And so,’ said Alice, ‘I heard my Lord of Winchester +saying how it were well to suppress the alien priories, and give their +wealth to found colleges like that founded by Bishop Wykeham.’</p> +<p>For in truths the spirit of the age was beginning to set against +monasticism. It was the period when perhaps there was more of +license and less of saintliness than at any other, and when the long +continuance of the Great Schism had so injured Church discipline that +the clergy and ecclesiastics were in the worst state of all, especially +the monastic orders, who owned no superior but the Pope, and between +the two rivals could avoid supervision altogether. Such men as +Thomas à Kempis, or the great Jean Gerson, were rare indeed; +and the monasteries had let themselves lose their missionary character, +and become mere large farms, inhabited by celibate gentlemen and their +attendants, or by the superfluous daughters of the nobles and gentry. +Such devotion as led Esclairmonde to the pure atmosphere of prayer and +self-sacrifice had well-nigh died out, and almost every other lady of +the time would have regarded her release from the vows made for her +its her babyhood a happy escape.</p> +<p>Still less, at a time when no active order of Sisters, save that +of the Béguines in Holland, had been invented, and when no nun +ever dreamt of carrying her charity beyond the quadrangle of her own +convent, could any one be expected to enter into Esclairmonde’s +admiration and longing for out-of-door works; but the person whom she +had chiefly made her friend was the King’s almoner and chaplain, +sometimes called Sir Martin Bennet, at others Dr. Bennet, a great Oxford +scholar, bred up among William of Wykeham’s original seventy at +Winchester and New College, and now much trusted and favoured by the +King, whom he everywhere accompanied. That Sir Martin was a pluralist +must be confessed, but he was most conscientious in providing substitutes, +and was a man of much thought and of great piety, in whom the fair pupil +of the Canon of St. Agnes found a congenial spirit.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI: MALCOLM’S SUIT</h2> +<p>‘That is a gentle and gracious slip of the Stewart. What +shall you do with him?’ asked King Henry of James, as they stood +together at one end of the tilt-yard at Westminster, watching Malcolm +Stewart and Ralf Percy, who were playing at closhey, the early form +of nine-pins.</p> +<p>‘I know what I should like to do,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘What may that be?’</p> +<p>‘To marry him to the Lady Esclairmonde de Luxemburg.’</p> +<p>Henry gave a long whistle.</p> +<p>‘Have you other views for her?’</p> +<p>‘Not I! Am I to have designs on every poor dove who flies +into my tent from the hawk? Besides, are not they both of them +vowed to a religious life?’</p> +<p>‘Neither vow is valid,’ replied James.</p> +<p>‘To meddle with such things is what I should not <i>dare</i>,’ +said Henry.</p> +<p>‘Monks and friars are no such holy beings, that I should greatly +concern me about keeping an innocent had out of their company,’ +said James.</p> +<p>‘Nor do I say they are,’ said Henry; ‘but it is +ill to cross a vow of devotion, and to bring a man back to the world +is apt to render him not worth the having. You may perchance get +him down lower than you intended.’</p> +<p>‘This boy never had any real vocation at all,’ said James; +‘it was only the timidity born of ill-health, and the longing +for food for the mind.’</p> +<p>‘Maybe so,’ replied the English king, ‘and you +may be in the right; but why fix on that grand Luxemburg wench, who +ought to be a Lady Abbess of Fontainebleau at least, or a very St. Hilda, +to rule monks and nuns alike?’</p> +<p>‘Because they have fixed on each other. Malcolm needs +a woman like her to make a man of him; and with her spirit and fervent +charity, we should have them working a mighty change in Scotland.’</p> +<p>‘If you get her there!’</p> +<p>‘Have I your consent, Harry?’</p> +<p>‘Mine? It’s no affair of mine! You must settle +it with Madame of Hainault; but you had best take care. You are +more like to make your tame lambkin into a ravening wolf, than to get +that Deborah the prophetess to herd him.’</p> +<p>James in sooth viewed this warning as another touch of Lancastrian +superstition, and only considered how to broach the question. +Malcolm, meantime, was balancing between the now approaching decision +between Oxford and France. He certainly felt something of his +old horror of warlike scenes; but even this was lessening; he was aware +that battles were not every-day occurrences, and that often there was +no danger at all. He would not willingly be separated from his +king; and if the female part of the Court were to accompany the campaign, +it would be losing sight of all he cared for, if he were left among +a set of stranger shavelings at Oxford. Yet he was reluctant to +break with the old habits that had hitherto been part of his nature; +he felt, after every word of Esclairmonde—nay, after every glance +towards her—as though it were a blessed thing to have, like her, +chosen the better part; he knew she would approve his resort to the +home of piety and learning; he was aware that when with Ralf Percy and +the other youths of the Court he was ashamed of his own scrupulousness, +and tempted to neglect observances that they might call monkish and +unmanly; and he was not at all sure that in face of the enemy a panic +might not seize him and disgrace him for ever! In effect he did +not know what he wished, even when he found that the Queen had decided +against going across the sea, and that therefore all the ladies would +remain with her at Shene or Windsor.</p> +<p>He should probably never again see Esclairmonde, the guiding star +of his recent life, the embodiment of all that he had imagined when +conning the quaint old English poems that told the Legend of Seynct +Katharine; and as he leant musingly against a lattice, feeling as if +the brightness of his life was going out, King James merrily addressed +him:—</p> +<p>‘Eh! the fit is on you too, boy!’</p> +<p>‘What fit, Sir?’ Malcolm opened his eyes.</p> +<p>‘The pleasing madness.’</p> +<p>Malcolm uttered a cry like horror, and reddened crimson. ‘Sir! +Sir! Sir!’ he stammered.</p> +<p>‘A well-known token of the disease is raving.’</p> +<p>‘Sir, Sir! I implore you to speak of nothing so profane.’</p> +<p>‘I am not given to profanity,’ said James, endeavouring +to look severe, but with laughter in his voice. ‘Methought +you were not yet so sacred a personage.’</p> +<p>‘Myself! No; but that I—I should dare to have such +thoughts of—oh, Sir!’ and Malcolm covered his face with +his hands. ‘Oh, that you should have so mistaken me!’</p> +<p>‘I have <i>not</i> mistaken you,’ said James, fixing +his keen eyes on him.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Sir!’ cried Malcolm, like one freshly stung, ‘you +have! Never, never dreamt I of aught but worshipping as a living +saint, as I would entreat St. Margaret or—’</p> +<p>There was still the King’s steady look and the suppressed smile. +Malcolm broke off, and with a sudden agony wrung his hands together. +The King still smiled. ‘Ay, Malcolm, it will not do; you +are man, not monk.’</p> +<p>‘But why be so cruel as to make me vile in my own eyes?’ +almost sobbed Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘Because,’ said the King, ‘she is not a saint in +heaven, nor a nun in a convent, but a free woman, to be won by the youth +she has marked out.’</p> +<p>‘Marked! Oh, Sir, she only condescended because she knew +my destination.’</p> +<p>‘That is well,’ said King James. ‘Thus sparks +kindle at unawares.’</p> +<p>Malcolm’s groan and murmur of ‘Never!’ made James +almost laugh at the evidence that on one side at least the touch-wood +was ready.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Sir,’ he sighed, ‘why put the thought before +me, to make me wretched! Even were she for the world, she would +never be for me. I—doited—hirpling—’</p> +<p>‘Peace, silly lad; all that is past and gone. You are +quite another now, and a year or two of Harry’s school of chivalry +will send you home a gallant knight and minstrel, such as no maiden +will despise.’</p> +<p>The King went, and Malcolm fell into a silent state of musing. +He was entirely overpowered, both by the consciousness awakened within +himself, by the doubt whether it were not a great sin, and by the strangeness +that the King, hitherto his oracle, should infuse such a hope. +What King James deemed possible could never be so incredible, or even +sacrilegious, as he deemed it. Restless, ashamed, rent by a thousand +conflicting feelings, Malcolm roamed up and down his chamber, writhed, +tried to sit and think, then, finding his thoughts in a whirl, renewed +his frantic pacings. And when dire necessity brought him again +into the ladies’ chamber, he was silent, blushing, ungainly, abstracted, +and retreated into the farthest possible corner from the unconscious +Esclairmonde.</p> +<p>Then, when again alone with the King, he began with the assertion, +‘It is utterly impossible, Sir;’ and James smiled to see +his poison working. Not that he viewed it as poison. Monasticism +was at a discount, and the ranks of the religious orders were chiefly +filled, the old Benedictine and Augustinian foundations by gentlemen +of good family who wanted the easy life of a sort of bachelor squire, +and the friaries were recruited by the sort of men who would in modern +times be dissenting teachers of the lower stamp. James was persuaded +that Malcolm was fit for better things than were usually to be seen +in a convent, and that it was a real kindness not to let him merely +retire thither out of faintness of heart, mistaken for devotion; and +he also felt as if he should be doing good service, not only to Malcolm, +but to Scotland, if he could obtain for him a wife of the grand character +of Esclairmonde de Luxemburg.</p> +<p>He even risked the mention of the project to the Countess of Hainault, +without whose consent nothing could be effected. Jaqueline laughed +long and loud at the notion of her stately Esclairmonde being the lady-love +of King James’s little white-visaged cousin; but if he could bring +it about she had no objection, she should be very glad that the demoiselle +should come down from the height and be like other people; but she would +wager the King of Scots her emerald carcanet against his heron’s +plume, that Esclairmonde would never marry unless her hands were held +for her. Was she not at that very moment visiting some foundation +of bedeswomen—that was all she heard of at yonder feast of cats!</p> +<p>In fact, under Dr. Bennet’s escort, Esclairmonde and Alice +were in a barge dropping down the Thames to the neighbourhood of the +frowning fortress of the Tower—as yet unstained; and at the steps +leading to the Hospitium of St. Katharine the ladies were met, not only +by their friend Mrs. Bolt, but by Sir Richard Whittington, his kindly +dame, and by ‘Master William Kedbesby,’ a grave and gentle-looking +old man, who had been Master of St. Katharine’s ever since the +first year of King Richard II., and delighted to tell of the visits +‘Good Queen Anne’ of Bohemia had made to her hospital, and +the kind words she had said to the old alms-folk and the children of +the schools; and when he heard that the Lady Esclairmonde was of the +same princely house of Luxemburg, he seemed to think no honour sufficient +for her. They visited the two houses, one for old men, the other +for old women, each with a common apartment, with a fire, and a dining-table +in the midst, and sleeping cells screened off round it, and with a paved +terrace walk overhanging the river, where the old people could sit and +sun themselves, and be amused by the gay barges and the swans that expatiated +there. The bedeswomen, ten in number, had a house arranged like +an ordinary nunnery, except that they were not in seclusion, had no +grating, and shared the quadrangle with the alms-folk and children. +They were gentle and well-nurtured women, chiefly belonging to the city +and country families that furnished servants to the queens; and they +applied themselves to various offices of charity, going forth into the +city to tend the poor, and to teach the women and children. The +appointments of alms-folk and admissions to the school were chiefly +made at their recommendation; and though a master taught all the book-learning +in the busy hive of scholars—eighty in number—one or more +of them instructed the little girls in spinning and in stitchery, to +say nothing of gentle and modest demeanour. There was a great +look of happiness and good order about all; and the church, fair and +graceful, seemed well to complete and rule the institution. Esclairmonde +could but sigh with a sort of regret as she left it, and let herself +be conducted by Sir Richard Whittington to a refection at his beautiful +house in Crutched Friars, built round a square, combining warehouse +and manor-house; richly-carved shields, with the arms of the companies +of London, supporting the tier of first-floor windows, and another row +of brackets above supporting another overhanging story. A fountain +was in the centre of a beautiful greensward, with beds of roses, pansies, +pinks, stars of Bethlehem, and other good old flowers, among which a +monkey was chained to a tree, while a cat roamed about at a safe distance +from him.</p> +<p>Alice Montagu raised a laugh by asking if it were <i>the</i> cat; +to which her city namesake replied that ‘her master’ never +could abide to be without a cat in memory of his first friend, and marshalled +them into the beautiful hall, with wainscot lining below, surmounted +by an arcade containing statues, and above a beautiful carved ceiling. +Here a meal was served to them, and the Lady talked with Whittington +of the grand town-halls and other buildings of the merchants of the +Low Countries, with whom he was a trader for their rich stuffs; and +the visit passed off with no small satisfaction to both parties.</p> +<p>Esclairmonde sat in the barge on her return, looking out on the gray +clear water, and on the bright gardens that sloped down to it, gay with +roses and fruitful with mulberries, apples, and strawberries, and the +mansions and churches that were never quite out of sight, though there +were some open fields and wild country ere coming to Westminster, all +as if she did not see them, but was wrapped in deep contemplation.</p> +<p>Alice at last, weary of silence, stole her arm round her waist, and +peeped up into her face. ‘May I guess thy thoughts, sweet +Clairette? Thou wilt found such a hospice thyself?’</p> +<p>‘Say not I <i>will</i>, child,’ said Esclairmonde, with +a crystal drop starting in each dark eye. ‘I would strive +and hope, but—’</p> +<p>‘Ah! thou wilt, thou wilt,’ cried Alice; ‘and since +there are Béguines enough for their own Netherlands, thou wilt +come to England and be our foundress here.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, little one; here are the bedeswomen of St. Katharine’s +in London.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! but we have other cities. Good Father, have we not? +Hull—Southampton—oh! so many, where poor strangers come +that need ghostly tendance as well as bodily. Esclairmonde—Light +of the World—oh! it was not for nothing that they gave thee that +goodly name. The hospice shall bear it!’</p> +<p>‘Hush, hush! sweet pyet; mine own name is what they must not +bear.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! but the people will give it; and our Holy Father the Pope, +he will put thee into the canon of saints. Only pity that I cannot +live to hear of Ste. Esclairmonde—nay, but then I must overlive +thee, mind I should not love that.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, silence, silence, child; these are no thoughts to begin +a work with. Little flatterer, it may be well for me that our +lives must needs lie so far apart that I shall not oft hear that fond +silly tongue.’</p> +<p>‘Nay,’ said Alice, in the luxury, not of castle-building +but of convent-building; ‘it may be that when that knight over +there sees me so small and ill-favoured he will none of me, and then +I’ll thank him so, and pray my father to let him have all my lands +and houses except just enough to dower me to follow thee with, dear +Lady Prioress.’</p> +<p>But here Alice was summarily silenced. Such talk, both priest +and votaress told her, was not meet for dutiful daughter or betrothed +maiden. Her lot was fixed, and she must do her duty therein as +the good wife and lady of the castle, the noble English matron; and +as she looked half disposed to pout, Esclairmonde drew such a picture +of the beneficent influence of the good baronial dame, ruling her castle, +bringing up her children and the daughters of her vassals in good and +pious nurture, making ‘the heart of her husband safely trust in +her,’ benefiting the poor, and fostering holy men, wayfarers, +and pilgrims, that the girl’s eyes filled within tears as she +looked up and said, ‘Ah! lady, this is the life fitted for thee, +who can paint it so well. Why have I not a brother, that you might +be Countess of Salisbury, and I a poor little sister in a nunnery?’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde shook her head. ‘Silly child, <i>petite +nïaise</i>, our lots were fixed by other hands than ours. +We will strive each to serve our God, in the coif or in the veil, in +samite or in serge, and He will only ask which of us has been most faithful, +not whether we have lived in castle or in cloister.’</p> +<p>Little had Esclairmonde expected to hear the greeting with which +the Countess received her, breaking out into peals of merriment as she +told her of the choice destiny in store for her, to be wedded to the +little lame Scot, pretending to read her a grave lecture on the consequences +of the advances she had made to him.</p> +<p>Esclairmonde was not put out of countenance; in fact, she did not +think the Countess in earnest, and merely replied with a smile that +at least there was less harm in Lord Malcolm than in the suitors at +home.</p> +<p>Jaqueline clapped her hands and cried, ‘Good tidings, Clairette. +I’ll never forgive you if you make me lose my emerald carcanet! +So the arrow was winged, after all. She prefers him—her +heart is touched by the dainty step.’</p> +<p>‘Madame!’ entreated Esclairmonde, with agitation; ‘at +least, infirmity should be spared.’</p> +<p>‘It touches her deeply!’ exclaimed the Duchess. +‘Ah! to see her in the mountains teaching the wild men to say +their Aye, and to wear <i>culottes</i>, the little prince interpreting +for her, as King James told us in his story of the saint his ancestor.’</p> +<p>Raillery about Malcolm had been attempted before, but never so pertinaciously; +and Esclairmonde heeded it not at all, till James himself sought her +out, and, within all his own persuasive grace, told her that he was +rejoiced to hear from Madame of Hainault that she had spoken kindly +of his youthful kinsman, for whose improvement he was sure he had in +great measure to thank her.</p> +<p>Esclairmonde replied composedly, but as one on her guard, that the +Sieur de Glenuskie was a gentle and a holy youth, of a good and toward +wit.</p> +<p>‘As I saw from the first,’ said James, ‘when I +brought him away from being crushed among our rude cousins; but, lady, +I knew not how the task of training the boy would be taken out of my +hands by your kindness; and now, pardon me, lady, only one thing is +wanting to complete your work, and that is hope.’</p> +<p>‘Hope is always before a holy man, Sir.’</p> +<p>‘O, madame! but we peer earthly beings require an earthly hope, +nearer home, to brace our hearts, and nerve our arms.’</p> +<p>‘I thought the Sieur de Glenuskie was destined to a religious +life.’</p> +<p>‘Never by any save his enemies, lady. The Regent Albany +and his fierce sons have striven to scare Malcolm into a cloister, that +his sister and his lands may be their prey; and they would have succeeded +had not I come to Scotland in time. The lad never had any true +vocation.’</p> +<p>‘That may be,’ said Esclairmonde, somewhat sorrowfully.</p> +<p>‘Still,’ added James, ‘he is of a thoughtful and +somewhat tender mould, and the rudeness of life will try him sorely +unless he have some cheering star, some light of love, to bear him up +and guide him on his way.’</p> +<p>‘If so, may he find a worthy one.’</p> +<p>‘Lady, it is too late to talk of what he may find. The +brightness that has done so much for him already will hinder him from +turning his eyes elsewhere.’</p> +<p>‘You are a minstrel, Sir King, and therefore these words of +light romance fall from your lips.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, lady, hitherto my romance has been earnest. It +rests with you to make Malcolm’s the same.’</p> +<p>‘Not so, Sir. That has long been out of my hands.’</p> +<p>‘Madame, you might well shrink from what it was as insult to +you to propose; but have you never thought of the blessings you might +confer in the secular life, with one who would be no hindrance, but +a help?’</p> +<p>‘No, Sir, for no blessings, but curses, would follow a breach +of dedication.’</p> +<p>‘Lady, I will not press you with what divines have decided +respecting such dedication. Any scruples could be removed by the +Holy Father at Rome, and, though I will speak no further, I will trust +to your considering the matter. You have never viewed it in any +light save that of a refuge from wedlock with one to whom I trust you +would prefer my gentle cousin.’</p> +<p>‘It were a poor compliment to Lord Malcolm to name him in the +same day with Sir Boëmond of Burgundy,’ said Esclairmonde; +‘but, as I said, it is not the person that withholds me, but the +fact that I am not free.’</p> +<p>‘I do not ask you to love or accept the poor boy as yet,’ +said James; ‘I leave that for the time when I shall bring him +back to you, with the qualities grown which you have awakened. +At least, I can bear him the tidings that it is not your feelings, but +your scruples that are against him.’</p> +<p>‘Sir King,’ said Esclairmonde, gravely, ‘I question +not your judgment in turning your kinsman and subject to the secular +life; but if you lead him by false hopes, of which I am the object, +I tell you plainly that you are deluding him; and if any evil come thereof, +be it on your own head.’</p> +<p>She moved away, with a bend of her graceful neck, and James stood +with a slight smile curving his lip. ‘By my troth,’ +he said to himself, ‘a lordly lady! She knows her own vocation. +She is one to command scores of holy maids, and have all the abbots +and priors round at her beck, instead of one poor man. Rather +Malcolm than I! But he is the very stuff that loves to have such +a woman to rule him; and if she wed at all, he is the very man for her! +I’ll not give it up! Love is the way to make a man of him, +whether successful or not, and she may change her mind, since she is +not yet on the roll of saints. If I could get a word with her +father confessor, and show him how much it would be for the interest +of the Church in Scotland to get such a woman there, it would be the +surest way of coming at her. Were she once in Scotland, my pretty +one would have a stay and helper! But all must rest till after +the campaign.’</p> +<p>James therefore told Malcolm so much as that he had spoken to his +lady-love for him, and that she had avowed that it was not himself, +but her own vows, that was the obstacle.</p> +<p>Malcolm crimsoned with joy as well as confusion; and the King proceeded: +‘For the vows’—he shrugged his shoulders—‘we +knew there is a remedy! Meantime, Malcolm, be you a man, win your +spurs, and show yourself worth overcoming something for!’</p> +<p>Malcolm smiled and brightened, holding his head high and joyously, +and handling his sword. Then came the misgiving—‘But +Lilias, Sir, and Patrick Drummond.’</p> +<p>‘We will provide for them, boy. You know Drummond is +bent on carving his own fortune rather than taking yours, and that your +sister only longs to see you a gallant knight.’</p> +<p>It was true, but Malcolm sighed.</p> +<p>‘You have not spoken to the lady yourself?’ asked the +King.</p> +<p>‘No, Sir. Oh, how can I?’ faltered Malcolm, shamefaced +and frightened.</p> +<p>James laughed. ‘Let that be as the mood takes you, or +occasion serves,’ he said, wondering whether the lad’s almost +abject awkwardness and shame would be likely to create the pity akin +to love or to contempt, and deciding that it must be left to chance.</p> +<p>Nor did Malcolm find boldness enough to do more than haunt Esclairmonde’s +steps, trembling if she glanced towards him, and almost shrinking from +her gaze. He had now no doubts about going on the campaign, and +was in full course of being prepared with equipments, horses, armour, +and attendants, as became a young prince attending on his sovereign +as an adventurer in the camp. It was not even worth while to name +such scruples to the English friar who shrived him on the last day before +the departure, and who knew nothing of his past history. He knew +all priests would say the same things, and as he had never made a binding +vow, he saw no need of consulting any one on the subject; it would only +vex him again, and fill him with doubts. The suspicion that Dr. +Bennet was aware of his previous intention made him shrink from him. +So the last day had come, and all was farewell. King Henry had +persuaded the Queen to seclude herself for one evening from Madame of +Hainault, for his sake. King James was pacing the gardens on the +Thames banks, with Joan Beaufort’s hand for once allowed to repose +in his; many a noble gentleman was exchanging last words with his wife—many +a young squire whispering what he had never ventured to say before—many +a silver mark was cloven—many a bright tress was exchanged. +Even Ralf Percy was in the midst of something very like a romp with +the handsome Bessie Nevil for a knot of ribbon to carry to the wars.</p> +<p>Malcolm felt a certain exaltation in being enough like other people +to have a lady-love, but there was not much comfort otherwise; indeed, +he could so little have addressed Esclairmonde that it was almost a +satisfaction that she was the centre of a group of maidens whose lovers +or brothers either had been sent off beforehand, or who saw their attentions +paid elsewhere, and who all alike gravitated towards the Demoiselle +de Luxemburg for sympathy. He could but hover on the outskirts, +conscious that he must cut a ridiculous figure, but unable to detach +himself from the neighbourhood of the magnet. As he looked back +on the happy weeks of unconstrained intercourse, when he came to her +as freely as did these young girls with all his troubles, he felt as +if the King had destroyed all his joy and peace, and yet that these +flutterings of heart and agonies of shame and fits of despair were worth +all that childish calm.</p> +<p>He durst say nothing, only now and then to gaze on her with his great +brown wistful eyes, which he dropped whenever she looked towards him; +until at last, when the summer evening was closing in, and the last +signal was given for the break-up of the party, Malcolm ventured on +one faltering murmur, ‘Lady, lady, you are not offended with me?’</p> +<p>‘Nay,’ said Esclairmonde, kindly; ‘nothing has +passed between us that should offend me.’</p> +<p>His eye lighted. ‘May I still be remembered in your prayers, +lady?’</p> +<p>‘As I shall remember all who have been my friends here,’ +she said.</p> +<p>‘And oh, lady, if I should—should win honour, may I lay +it at your feet?’</p> +<p>‘Whatever you achieve as a good man and true will gladden me,’ +said Esclairmonde, ‘as it will all others that wish you well. +Both you and your sister in her loneliness shall have my best prayers. +Farewell, Lord Malcolm; may the Saints bless and guard you, whether +in the world or the Church.’</p> +<p>Malcolm knew why she spoke of his sister, and felt as if there were +no hope for him. Esclairmonde’s grave kindness was a far +worse sign than would have been any attempt to evade him; but at any +rate she had spoken with him, and his heart could not but be cheered. +What might he not do in the glorious future? As the foremost champion +of a crusading king, bearing St. Andrew’s cross through the very +gates of Jerusalem, what maiden, however saintly, could refuse him his +guerdon?</p> +<p>And he knew that, for the present, Esclairmonde was safe from retiring +into any convent, since her high birth and great possessions would make +any such establishment expect a large dower with her as a right, and +few abbesses would have ventured to receive a runaway foreigner, especially +as one of her guardians was the Bishop of Thérouenne.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII: THE SIEGE OF MEAUX</h2> +<p>Wintry winds and rains were sweeping over the English tents on the +banks of the Marne, where Henry V. was besieging Meaux, then the stronghold +of one of those terrible freebooters who were always the offspring of +a lengthened war. Jean de Gast, usually known as the Bastard de +Vaurus, nominally was of the Armagnac or patriotic party, but, in fact, +pillaged indiscriminately, especially capturing travellers on their +way to Paris, and setting on their heads a heavy price, failing which +he hung them upon the great elm-tree in the market-place. The +very suburbs of Paris were infested by the forays of this desperate +<i>routier</i>, as such highway robbers were called; the supplies of +previsions were cut off, and the citizens had petitioned King Henry +that he would relieve them from so intolerable an enemy.</p> +<p>The King intended to spend the winter months with his queen in England, +and at once attacked the place in October, hoping to carry it by a <i>coup +de main</i>. He took the lower city, containing the market-place +and several large convents, with no great difficulty; but the upper +city, on a rising ground above the river, was strongly fortified, well +victualled, and bravely defended, and he found himself forced to invest +it, and make a regular siege, though at the expense of severe toil and +much sickness and suffering. Both his own prestige in France and +the welfare of the capital depended on his success, and he had therefore +fixed himself before Meaux to take it at whatever cost.</p> +<p>The greater part of the army were here encamped, together with the +chief nobles, March, Somerset, Salisbury, Warwick, and likewise the +King of Scots. James had for a time had the command of the army +which besieged and took Dreux while Henry was elsewhere engaged, but +in general he acted as a sort of volunteer aide-de-camp to his brother +king, and Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie was always with him as his squire. +A great change had come over Malcolm in these last few months. +His feeble, sickly boyhood seemed to have been entirely cast off, and +the warm genial summer sun of France to have strengthened his frame +and developed his powers. He had shot up suddenly to a fair height, +had almost lost his lameness, and gained much more appearance of health +and power of enduring fatigue. His nerves had become less painfully +sensitive, and when after his first skirmish, during which he had kept +close to King James, far too much terrified to stir an inch from him, +he had not only found himself perfectly safe, but had been much praised +for his valour, he had been so much pleased with himself that he quite +wished for another occasion of displaying his bravery; and, what with +use, and what with the increasing spirit of pugnacity, he was as sincere +as Ralf Percy in abusing the French for never coming to a pitched battle. +Perhaps, indeed, Malcolm spoke even more eagerly than Ralf, in his own +surprise and gratification at finding himself no coward, and his fear +lest Percy should detect that he ever had been supposed to be such.</p> +<p>So far the King of Scots had succeeded in awakening martial fire +in the boy, but he found him less the companion in other matters than +he had intended. When at Paris, James would have taken him to +explore the learned hoards of the already venerable University of Paris, +where young James Kennedy—son to Sir James Kennedy of Dunure, +and to Mary, an elder sister of the King—was studying with exceeding +zeal. Both James and Dr. Bennet were greatly interested in this +famous abode of hearing—the King, indeed, was already sketching +out designs in his own mind for a similar institution in Scotland, designs +that were destined to be carried out after his death by Kennedy; and +Malcolm perforce heard many inquiries and replies, but he held aloof +from friendship with his clerkly cousin Kennedy, and closed his ears +as much as might be, hanging back as if afraid of returning to his books. +There was in this some real dread of Ralf Percy’s mockery of his +clerkliness, but there was more real distaste for all that appertained +to the past days that he now despised.</p> +<p>The tide of vitality and physical vigour, so long deficient, had, +whom it had fairly set in, carried him away with it: and in the activity +of body newly acquired, mental activity had well-nigh ceased. +And therewith went much of the tenderness of conscience and devout habits +of old. They dropped from him, sometimes for lack of time, sometimes +from false shame, and by and by from very weariness and distaste. +He was soldier now, and not monk—ay, and even the observances +that such soldiers as Henry and James never failed in, and always enforced, +were becoming a burthen to him. They wakened misgivings that he +did not like, and that must wait till his next general shrift.</p> +<p>And Esclairmonde? Out of her sight, Malcolm dreamt a good deal +about her, but more as the woman, less as the saint; and the hopes, +so low in her presence, burnt brighter in her absence as Malcolm grew +in self-confidence and in knowledge of the world. He knew that +when he parted with her he had been a miserable little wretch whom any +woman would despise, yet she had shown him a sort of preference; how +would it be when he returned to her, perhaps a knight, certainly a brave +man like other men!</p> +<p>Of Patrick Drummond he had as yet heard nothing, and only believed +him to be among the Scots who fought on the French side under the Earls +of Buchan and Douglas. Indeed, James especially avoided places +where he knew these Scots to be engaged, as Henry persisted in regarding +them as rebels against him, and in hanging all who were made prisoners; +nor had Malcolm, during the courtesies that always pass between the +outposts of civilized armies, made much attempt to have any communication +with his cousin, for though his own abnegation of his rights had never +been permitted by his guardian, or reckoned on by his sister or her +lover, still he had been so much in earnest about it himself, as, while +regarding it as a childish folly, to feel ill at ease in the remembrance, +and, though defiant, willing to avoid all that could recall it.</p> +<p>Meantime he, with his king, was lodged in a large old convent, as +part of the immediate following of King Henry. Others of the princes +and nobles were quartered in the market hall and lower town, but great +part of thine troops were in tents, and in a state of much discomfort, +owing to the overflowings of the Marne. Fighting was the least +of their dangers, though their skirmishes were often fought ankle-deep +in mud and mire; fever and ague were among them, and many a sick man +was sent away to recover or die at Paris. The long dark evenings +were a new trial to men used to summer campaigning, and nothing but +Henry’s wonderful personal influence and perpetual vigilance kept +up discipline. At any hour of the day or night, at any place in +the camp, the King might be at hand, with a cheery word of sympathy +or encouragement, or with the most unflinching sternness towards any +disobedience or debauchery—ever a presence to be either loved +or dreaded. An engineer in advance of his time, he was persuaded +that much of the discomfort might be remedied by trenching the ground +around the camp; but this measure proved wonderfully distasteful to +the soldiery. How hard they laboured in the direct siege operations +they cared not, but to be set to drain French fields seemed to them +absurd and unreasonable, and the work would not have proceeded at all +without constant superintendence from one of the chiefs of the army, +since the ordinary knights and squires were as obstinately prejudiced +as were the men.</p> +<p>Thus it was that, on a cold sleety December day, James of Scotland +rode along the meadows, splashing through thin ice into muddy water, +and attended by his small personal suite, excepting Sir Nigel Baird, +who was gone on a special commission to Paris. Both he and Malcolm +were plainly and lightly armed, and wore long blue cloaks with the St. +Andrew’s cross on the shoulder, steel caps without visors, and +the King’s merely distinguished by a thread-hike circlet of gold. +They had breastplates, swords, and daggers, but they were not going +to a quarter where fighting was to be expected, and bright armour was +not to be exposed to rust without need. A visit of inspection +to the delvers was not a congenial occupation, for though the men-at-arms +had obeyed James fairly well when he was in sole command at Dreux, yet +whenever he was obliged to enforce anything unpopular, the national +dislike to the Scot was apt to show itself, and the whole army was at +present in a depressed condition which made such manifestations the +more probable.</p> +<p>But King Henry was not half recovered from a heavy feverish cold, +which he had not confessed or attended to, and he had also of late been +troubled with a swelling of the neck. This morning, too, much +to his inconvenience and dismay, he had missed his signet-ring. +The private seal on such a ring was of more importance than the autograph +at that time, and it would never have left the King’s hand; but +no doubt, in consequence of his indisposition, his finger, always small-boned, +had become thin enough to allow the signet to escape unawares, he was +unwilling to publish the loss, as it might cast doubt on the papers +he despatched, and he, with his chamberlain Fitzhugh, King James, Malcolm, +Percy, and a few more, had spent half the morning in the vain search, +ending by the King sending his chamberlain, Lord Fitzhugh, to carry +to Paris a seal already bearing his shield, but lacking the small private +mark that authenticated it as his signet. Fitzhugh would stand +over the lapidary and see this added, and bring it back. Ralf +Percy had meantime been sent to bring a report of the diggers, but he +was long in returning; and when Henry became uneasy, James had volunteered +to go himself, and Henry had consented, not because the air was full +of sleety rain or snow, but because his hands were full of letters needing +to be despatched to all quarters.</p> +<p>The air was so thick that it was not easy to see where were the sullen +group of diggers presided over by the quondam duellists of Thirsk, Kitson +and Trenton, now the most inseparable and impracticable of men; but +James and his companions had ridden about two miles from the market-place, +when Ralf Percy came out of the mist, exclaiming, ‘Is it you, +Sir King? Maybe you can do something with those rascals! +I’ve talked myself blue with cold to make them slope the sides +of their dyke, but the owl Kitson says no Yorkshireman ditcher ever +went but by one fashion, and none ever shall; and when I lifted my riding-rod +at the most insolent of the rogues, what must Trenton do but tell me +the lot were free yeomen, and I’d best look out, or they’d +roll me in the mire if I meddled with a soul of them.’</p> +<p>‘You didn’t threaten to strike Trenton?’</p> +<p>‘No, no; the sullen cur is a gentleman. ’Twas one +of those lubberly men-at-arms! I told them they should hear what +King Harry would say to their mood. I would it were he!’</p> +<p>‘So would I,’ said James. ‘Little chance +that they will hearken to a Scot when you have put them in such a mood. +Hold, Ralf, do not go for the King; he has letters for the Emperor mattering +more than this dyke.’</p> +<p>He rode on, and did his best by leaping into the ditch, taking the +spade, and showing the superior security of the angle of inclination +traced by the King, but all in vain; both Trenton and Kitson silently +but obstinately scouted the notion that any king should know more about +ditches than themselves.</p> +<p>‘See,’ cried Percy, starting up, ‘here’s +other work! The fellows, whence came they?’</p> +<p>Favoured by the fog and the soft soil of the meadows, a considerable +body of the enemy were stealing on the delvers with the manifest purpose +of cutting them off from the camp. They were all mounted, but +the only horses in the English party were those of James, Percy, Malcolm, +and the half-dozen men of his escort. James, assuming the command +at once, bade these to be all released; they would be sure to find their +way to the camp, and that would bring succour. Meantime he drew +the whole of the men, about thirty in number, into a compact body. +They were, properly, archers, but their bows had been left behind, and +they had only their pikes and bills, which were, however, very formidable +weapons against cavalry as long as they continued in an unbroken rank; +and though the bogs, pools, sunken hedges, and submerged stumps made +it difficult to keep close together as they made their way slowly with +one flank to the river, these obstacles were no small protection against +a charge of horsemen.</p> +<p>For a quarter of a mile these tactics kept them unharmed, but at +length they reached a wide smooth meadow, and the enemy seemed preparing +to charge. James gave orders to close up and stand firm, pikes +outwards. Malcolm’s heart beat fast; it was the most real +peril he had yet seen; and yet he was cheered by the King’s ringing +voice, ‘Stand firm, ye merry men. They must soon be with +us from the camp.’</p> +<p>Suddenly a voice shouted, ‘The Scots! the Scots! ’Tis +the Scots! Treachery! we are betrayed. Come, Sir’ +(to Percy), ‘they’ll be on you. Treason!’</p> +<p>‘An’ it were, you fool, would a Percy turn his back?’ +cried Ralf, striking at the man; but the panic had seized the whole +body; all were shouting that the false Scots king had brought his countrymen +down on them; they scattered hither and thither, and would have fallen +an easy prey if they had been pursued. But this did not seem to +be the purpose of the enemy, who merely extended themselves so as to +form a hedge around the few who stood, sword in hand, disdaining to +fly. These were, James, somewhat in advance, with his head high, +and a lion look on his brow; Malcolm, white with dismay; Ralf, restless +with fury; Kitson and Trenton, apparently as unmoved as ever; Brewster, +equally steady: and Malcolm’s follower, Halbert, in a glow of +hopeful excitement.</p> +<p>‘Never fear, friends,’ said James, kindly; ‘to +you this can only be matter of ransom.’</p> +<p>‘I fear nothing,’ sharply answered Ralf.</p> +<p>‘We’ll stand by you, Sir,’ said Kitson to Ralf; +‘but if ever there were foul treason—’</p> +<p>‘Pshaw! you ass,’ were all Percy’s thanks; for +at that moment a horseman came forward from among the enemy, a gigantic +form on a tall white horse, altogether a ‘dark gray man,’ +the open visor revealing an elderly face, hard-featured and grim, and +the shield on his arm so dinted, faded, and battered, as scarce to show +the blue chief and the bleeding crowned heart; but it was no unfamiliar +sight to Malcolm’s eyes, and with a slight shudder he bent his +head in answer to the fierce whisper, ‘Old Douglas himself!’ +with which Hotspur’s son certified himself that he had the foe +of his house before him. King James, resting the point of his +sword on his mailed foot, stood erect and gravely expectant; and the +Scot, springing to the ground, advanced with the words, ‘We greet +you well, my liege, and hereby—’ he was bending his knee +as he spoke, and removing his gauntlet in preparation for the act of +homage.</p> +<p>‘Hold, Earl Douglas,’ said James, ‘homage is vain +to a captive.’</p> +<p>‘You are captive no longer, Sir King,’ said Earl Archibald. +‘We have long awaited this occasion, and will at once return to +Scotland with you, with the arms and treasure we have gained here, and +will bear down the craven Albany.’</p> +<p>Kitson and Trenton looked at one another and grasped their swords, +as though doubting whether they ought not to cut down their king’s +prisoner rather than let him be rescued; and meanwhile the cry, ‘Save +King James!’ broke out on all sides, knights leapt down to tender +their homage, and among the foremost Malcolm knew Sir Patrick Drummond, +crying aloud, ‘My lord, my lord, we have waited long for you. +Be a free king in free Scotland! Trust us, my liege.’</p> +<p>‘Trust you, my friends!’ said James, deeply touched; +‘I trust you with all my heart; but how could you trust me if +I began with a breach of faith to the King of England?’</p> +<p>Ralf Percy held up his finger and nodded his head to the Yorkshire +squires, who stood open-mouthed, still believing that a Scot must be +false. There was an angry murmur among the Scots, but James gazed +at them undauntedly, as though to look it down.</p> +<p>‘Yes, to King Harry!’ he said, in his trumpet voice. +‘I belong to him, and he has trusted me as never prisoner was +trusted before, nor will I betray that trust.’</p> +<p>‘The foul fiend take such niceties,’ muttered old Douglas; +but, checking himself, he said, ‘Then, Sir, give me your sword, +and we’ll have you home as my prisoner, to save this your honour!’</p> +<p>‘Yea,’ said James, ‘that is mine own, though my +body be yours, and till England put me to ransom you would have but +a useless captive.’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ said Sir John Swinton, pressing forward, ‘if +my Lord of Douglas be plain-spoken, bethink you that it is no cause +for casting aside this one hope of freedom that we have sought so long. +If you have the heart to strike for Scotland, this is the time.’</p> +<p>‘It is not the time,’ said James, ‘nor will I do +Scotland the wrong of striking for her with a dishonoured hand.’</p> +<p>‘That will we see when we have him at Hermitage Castle,’ +quoth Douglas to his followers. ‘Now, Sir King, best give +your sword without more grimace. Living or dead you are ours.’</p> +<p>‘I yield not,’ said James. ‘Dead you may +take me—alive, never.’ Then turning his eyes to the +faces that gazed on him so earnestly in disappointment, in affection, +or in scorn, he spoke: ‘Brave friends, who may perchance love +me the better that I have been a captive half my life and all my reign, +you can believe how sair my heart burns for my bonnie land’s sake, +and how little I’d reck of my life for her weal. But broken +oaths are ill beginnings. For me, so notably trusted by King Henry, +to break my bonds, would shame both Scots and kings; and it were yet +more paltry to feign to yield to my Lord of Douglas. Rescue or +no rescue, I am England’s captive. Gentles, kindly brother +Scots, in one way alone can you free me. Give up this wretched +land of France, whose troubles are but lengthened by your valour. +Let me gang to King Harry and tell him your swords are at his service, +so soon as I am free. Then am I your King indeed; we return together, +staunch hearts and strong hands, and the key shall keep the castle, +and the bracken bush keep the cow, though I lead the life of a dog to +bring it about.’</p> +<p>His tawny eye flashed with falcon light; and as he stood towering +above all the tall men around, there were few who did not in heart own +him indeed their king. But his picture of royal power accorded +ill with the notions of a Black Douglas, in the most masterful days +of that family; and Earl Archibald, who had come to regard kings as +beings meant to be hectored by Douglases, resentfully exclaimed, ‘Hear +him, comrades; he has avouched himself a Southron at heart. Has +he reckoned how little it would cost to give a thrust to the caitiff +who has lost heart in his prison, and clear the way for Albany, who +is at least a true Scot?’</p> +<p>‘Do so, Lord Earl,’ said James, ‘and end a long +captivity. But let these go scatheless.’</p> +<p>With one voice, Percy, Kitson, Trenton, and Brewster, shouted their +resolve to defend him to the last; and Malcolm, flinging himself on +Patrick Drummond, adjured him to save the King.</p> +<p>‘Thou here, laddie!’ said Patrick, amazed; and while +several more knights exclaimed, ‘Sir, Sir, we’ll see no +hand laid on you!’ he thrust forward, ‘Take my horse, Sir, +ride on, and I’ll see no scathe befall you.’</p> +<p>‘Thanks,’ said James; ‘but my feet will serve me +best; we will keep together.’</p> +<p>The Scottish force seemed dividing into two: Douglas and his friends +and retainers, mounted and holding together, as though still undecided +whether to grapple with the King and his half-dozen companions; while +Drummond and about ten more lances were disposed to guard him at all +risks.</p> +<p>‘Now,’ said James to his English friends; and therewith, +sword in hand, he moved with a steady but swift stride towards the camp, +nor did Douglas attempt pursuit; some of the other horsemen hovered +between, and Patrick Drummond, with a puzzled face, kept near on foot. +So they proceeded till they reached a bank and willow hedge, through +which horses could hardly have pursued them.</p> +<p>On the other side of this, James turned round and said, ‘Thanks, +Sir Knight; I suppose I may not hope that you will become a follower +of the knight adventurer.’</p> +<p>‘I cannot fight under the English banner, my liege. Elsewhere +I would fellow you to the death.’</p> +<p>‘This is no time to show your error,’ said James; ‘and +I therefore counsel you to come no farther. The English will be +pricking forth in search of us: so I will but thank you for your loyal +aid.’</p> +<p>‘I entreat you, Sir,’ cried Patrick, ‘not to believe +that we meant this matter to go as it has done! It had long been +our desire—of all of us, that is, save my Lord Buchan’s +retainers—to find you and release you; but never did we deem that +Lord Douglas would have dared to conduct matters thus.’</p> +<p>‘You would be little the better for me did Lord Douglas bring +me back on his own terms,’ said James, smiling. ‘No, +no; when I go home, it shall be as a free king, able to do justice to +all alike; and for that I am content to bide my time, and trust to such +as you to back me when it comes.’</p> +<p>‘And with all my heart, Sir,’ said Patrick. ‘Would +that you were where I could do so now. Ah! laddie,’ to Malcolm; +‘ye’re in good hands. My certie, I kenned ye but by +your voice! Ye’re verily grown into a goodly ship after +all, and ye stood as brave as the rest. My poor father would have +been fain to see this day!’</p> +<p>Malcolm flushed to the ears; somehow Patrick’s praise was not +as pleasant to him as he would have expected, and he only faltered, +‘You know—’</p> +<p>‘I ken but what Johnnie Swinton brought me in a letter frae +the Abbot of Coldingham, that my father—the saints be with him!—had +been set on and slain by yon accursed Master of Albany—would that +his thrapple were in my grip!—that he had sent you southwards +to the King, and that your sister was in St. Abbs. Is it so?’</p> +<p>Malcolm had barely time to make a sign of affirmation, when the King +hurried him on. ‘I grieve to balk you of your family tidings, +but delay will be ill for one or other of us; so fare thee well, Sir +Patrick, till better times.’</p> +<p>He shook the knight’s hand as he spoke, cut short his protestations, +and leapt down the bank, saying in a low voice, as he stretched out +his hand and helped Malcolm down after him, ‘He would have known +me again for your guest if we had stood many moments longer; he looked +hard at me as it was; and neither in England nor Scotland may that journey +of mine be blazed abroad.’</p> +<p>Malcolm was on the whole rather relieved; he could not help feeling +guilty towards Patrick, and unless he could have full time for explanation, +he preferred not falling in with him.</p> +<p>And at the same moment Kitson stepped towards the King. ‘Sir, +you are an honest man, and we crave your pardon if we said aught that +seemed in doubt thereof.’</p> +<p>James laughed, shaking each honest hand, and saying, ‘At least, +good sirs, do not always think Scot and traitor the same word; and thank +you for backing me so gallantly.’</p> +<p>‘I’d wish no better than to back such as you, Sir,’ +said Kitson heartily; and James then turned to Ralf Percy, and asked +him what he thought of the Douglas face to face.</p> +<p>‘A dour old block!’ said Ralf. ‘If those +runaways had but stayed within us, the hoary ruffian should have had +his lesson from a Percy.’</p> +<p>James smiled, for the grim giant was still a good deal more than +a match for the slim, rosy-faced stripling of the house of Percy, who +nevertheless simply deemed his nation and family made him invincible +by either Scot or Frenchman.</p> +<p>The difficulties of their progress, however, entirely occupied them. +Having diverged from the regular track, they had to make their way through +the inundated meadows; sometimes among deep pools, sometimes in quagmires, +or ever hedges; while the water that drenched them was fast freezing, +and darkness came down on them. All stumbled or were bogged at +different times; and Malcolm, shorter and weaker than the rest, and +his lameness becoming more felt than usual, could not help impeding +their progress, and at last was so spent that but for the King’s +strong arm he would have spent the night in a bog-hole.</p> +<p>At last the lights were near, the outskirts were gained, the pass-word +given to the watch, and the rough but welcome greeting was heard—‘That’s +well! More of you come in! How got you off?’</p> +<p>‘The rogues got back, then?’ said Kitson.</p> +<p>‘Some score of them,’ was the answer; ‘but ’tis +thought most are drowned or stuck by the French. The King is in +a proper rage, as well he may be; but what else could come of a false +Scot in the camp?’</p> +<p>‘Have a care, you foul tongue!’ Percy was the first to +cry; and as torches were now brought out and cast their light on the +well-known faces, the soldiers stood abashed; but James tarried not +for their excuses; his heart was hot at the words which implied that +Henry suspected him, and he strode hastily on to the convent, where +the quadrangle was full of horses and men, and the windows shone with +lights. At the door of the refectory stood a figure whose armour +flashed with light, and his voice sounded through the closed visor—‘I +tell you, March, I cannot rest till I knew what his hap has been. +If he have done this thing—’</p> +<p>‘What then?’ answered James out of the darkness, in a +voice deep with wrath; but Henry started.</p> +<p>‘You there! you safe! Speak again! Come here that +I may see. Where is he?’</p> +<p>‘Here, Sir King,’ said James, gravely.</p> +<p>‘Now the saints be thanked!’ cried Henry, joyously. +‘Where be the caitiffs that brought me their false tale? +They shall hang for it at once.’</p> +<p>‘It was the less wonder,’ said James, still coldly, ‘that +they should have thought themselves betrayed, since their king believed +it of me.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, ’twas but for a hot moment—ay, and the bitterest +I ever spent. What could I do when the villains swore that there +were signals and I know not what devices passing? I hoped yet +’twas but a plea for their own cowardice, and was mounting to +come and see for you. Come, I should have known you better; I’d +rather the whole world deceived me than have distrusted you, Jamie.’</p> +<p>There was that in his tone which ended all resentment, and James’s +hand was at once clasped in his, while Henry added, ‘Ho, Provost-marshal! +to the gallows with these knaves!’</p> +<p>‘Nay, Harry,’ said James, ‘let me plead for them. +There was more than ordinary to dismay them.’</p> +<p>‘Dismay! ay, the more cause they should have stood like honest +men. If a rogue be not to hang for deserting his captain and then +maligning him, soon would knavery be master of all.’</p> +<p>‘Hear me first, Hal.’</p> +<p>‘I’ll hear when I return and you are dried. Why, +man, thou art an icicle errant; change thy garments while I go round +the posts, or I shall hear nought for the chattering of thy teeth.’</p> +<p>‘Nor I for your cough, if you go, Harry. Surely, ’tis +Salisbury’s night!’</p> +<p>‘The more cause that I be on the alert! Could I be everywhere, +mayhap a few winter blasts would not have chilled and frozen all the +manhood out of the host.’</p> +<p>He spoke very sharply as he threw him on his horse, and wrapped his +cloak about him—a poor defence, spite of the ermine lining, against +the frost of the December night for a man whose mother, the fair and +wise Mary de Bohun, had died in early youth from disease of the lungs.</p> +<p>James and the two young partners of his adventure had long been clad +in their gowns of peace, and seated by the fire in the refectory, James +with his harp in his hand, from time to time dreamily calling forth +a few plaintive notes, such as he said always rang in his ears after +hearing a Scottish voice, when they again heard Henry’s voice +in hot displeasure with the provost-marshal for having deferred the +execution of the runaways till after the hearing of the story of the +King of Scots.</p> +<p>‘His commands were not to be transgressed for the king of anything,’ +and he only reprieved the wretches till morning that their fate might +be more signal. He spoke with the peremptory fierceness that had +of late almost obscured his natural good-humour and kindliness; and +when he entered the refectory and threw himself into a chair by the +fire, he looked wearied out in body and mind, shivered and coughed, +and said with unwonted depression that the sullen fellows would make +a quagmire of their camp after all, since a French reinforcement had +come up, and the vigilance that would be needed would occupy the whole +army. At supper he ate little and spoke less; and when James would +have related his encounter within the Scots, he cut him short, saying, +‘Let that rest till morning; I am sick of hearing of it! +An air upon thy harp would be more to the purpose.’</p> +<p>Nor would James have been unwilling to be silent on old Douglas’s +conduct if he had not been anxious to plead for the panic-stricken archers, +as well as to extol the conduct of the two youths, and of the Yorkshire +squires; but, as he divined that the young Hotspur would regard praise +from him as an insult, he deferred the subject for his absence, and +launched into a plaintive narrative ballad, to which Henry listened, +leaning back in his chair, often dozing, but without relaxation of the +anxiety that sat on his pale face, and ever and anon wakening within +a heavy sigh, as though his buoyant spirits were giving way under the +weight of care he had brought on himself.</p> +<p>James was just singing of one of the many knightly orphans of romance, +exposed in woods to the nurture of bears, his father slain, his mother +dead of grief—a ditty he had perhaps chosen for its soporific +powers—when a gay bugle blast rang through the court of the convent.</p> +<p>‘The French would scarce send to parley thus late,’ exclaimed +James; but the next moment a joyful clamour arose without, and Henry, +springing to his feet, spoke not, but stood awaiting the tidings with +the colour burning on cheek and brow in suppressed excitement.</p> +<p>An esquire, splashed to the ears, hurried into the room, and falling +on his knees, cried aloud, ‘God save King Harry! News, news, +my lord! The Queen has safely borne you a fair son at Windsor +Castle, five days since.’</p> +<p>Henry did not speak, but took the messenger’s hand, wrung it, +and left a costly ring there. Then, taking off his cap, he put +his hands over his face, uttering a few words of fervent thanksgiving +almost within himself, and then turning to the esquire, made further +inquiries after his wife’s welfare, took from him the letter that +Archbishop Chicheley had sent, poured out a cup of wine for him, bade +the lords around make him good cheer, but craved license for himself +to retire.</p> +<p>It was so unlike his usual hilarious manner that all looked at one +another in anxiety, and spoke of his unusual susceptibility to fatigue +and care; while the squire, looking at the rich jewel in his hand, declared +within disappointment in his tone, that he would rather have had a mere +flint stone so he had heard King Harry’s own cheery voice.</p> +<p>James was not the least anxious of them, but long ere light the next +morning Henry stood at his bedside, saying, ‘I must go round the +posts before mass, Jamie. Will you face the matin frost?’</p> +<p>‘I am fitter to face it than thou,’ said James, rising. +‘Is there need for this?’</p> +<p>‘Great need,’ said Henry. ‘Here are these +fresh forces all aglow within their first zeal, and unless they are +worse captains than I suppose them, they will attempt some mischief +ere long—nor is any time so slack as cock-crow.’</p> +<p>James was speedily ready, and, within some suppressed sighs, so was +Malcolm, who knew himself in duty bound to attend his master, and was +kept on the alert by seeing Ralf Percy also on foot. But it was +a great relief to him that the young gentleman murmured in no measured +terms against the intolerable activity of their kings. No other +attendants went within them, since Henry was wont to patrol his camp +with as little demonstration as possible.</p> +<p>‘I would scarcely ask a dog to come out with me this wintry +morn,’ said he, as he waved back his sleepy chamberlain, Fitzhugh, +and took his brother king’s arm; ‘but I could not but crave +a turn with thee, Jamie, ere the hue and cry of rejoicing begins.’</p> +<p>‘That is poor welcome for your heir,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘Poor child!’ said Henry; then, after they had walked +some space in silence, he added, ‘You’ll mock me, but I +would that this had not befallen at Windsor. I had laid my plans +that it should be otherwise; but ladies are ill to guide.’</p> +<p>‘And wherefore should it not have been at fair Windsor? +If I can love it as a prison, sure your son may well love it as a cradle.’</p> +<p>‘No dishonour to Windsor,’ said Henry; ‘but, sleeping +or waking, this whole night hath this adage rung in my ears—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Harry, born at Monmouth, shall short time live +and all get;<br /> +Harry, born at Windsor, shall long time live and lose all.”’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘A most choice piece of royal poesy and prophecy,’ laughed +James.</p> +<p>‘Nay, do not charge me with it, thou dainty minstrel. +It was sung to me by mime old Herefordshire nurse, when Windsor seemed +as little within my reach as Meaux, and I never thought of it again +till I looked to have a son.’</p> +<p>‘Then balk the prophecy,’ said James; ‘Edward born +at Windsor got enough, and lived long enough to boot!’</p> +<p>‘Too late!’ was the answer. ‘The Archbishop +christened the poor child Harry in the very hour of his birth.’</p> +<p>‘Poor child!’ echoed James, rather sarcastically.</p> +<p>‘Nay, ’tis not solely the rhyme,’ said Henry; ‘but +this has been a wakeful night, and not without misgivings whether I +am one who ought to look for joy in his children.’</p> +<p>‘What is past was not such that you alone should cry <i>mea +culpa</i>,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘I never thought so till now,’ said Henry. ‘Yet +who knows? My father was a winsome young man ere his exile, full +of tenderness to us all, at the rare times he was with us. Who +knows what cares may make of me ere my boy learns to knew me?’</p> +<p>‘You will not hold him aloof, and give him no chance of loving +you?’</p> +<p>‘I trow not! I’ll have him with me in the camp, +and he and my brave men shall be one another’s pride. Which +Roman emperor is it that hears the nickname his father’s soldiers +gave him as a child? Nay—Caligula was it? Omens are +against me this morning.’</p> +<p>‘Then laughs them to scorn, and be yourself,’ said James. +‘Bless God for the goodly child, who is born to two kingdoms, +won by his father’s and his grandsire’s swords.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said Henry, depressed by failing health, a sleepless +night, and hungry morning, ‘maybe it were better for him, soul +and body both, did I stand here Duke of Lancaster, and good Edmund of +March yonder were head of realm and army.’</p> +<p>‘Never would he be head of this army,’ said James. +‘He would be snoring at Shene; that is, if he could sleep for +the trouble the Duke of Lancaster would be giving him.’</p> +<p>Henry laughed at last. ‘Good King Edmund, he would assuredly +never try to set the world right on its hinges. Honest fellow, +soon he will be as hearty in his congratulations as though he did not +lie under a great wrong. Heigh-ho! such as he may be in the right +on’t. I’ve marvelled of late, whether any priest or +hermit could bring back my old assurance, that all this is my work on +earth, or tell me if it be all one grand error. Men there have +been like Cæsar, Alexander, or Charlemagne, who thought my thoughts +and worked them out; and surely Church and nations cry aloud for purifying. +Jerusalem, and a general council—I saw them once clear and bright +before me; but now a mist seems to rise up from Richard’s blood, +and hide them from me; and there comes from it my father’s voice +when he asked on his deathbed what right I had to the crown. What +would it be if I had to leave this work half done?’</p> +<p>He was interrupted by the sight of a young knight stealing into the +camp, after a furtive expedition to Paris. It was enough to rouse +him from his despondent state; and the severity of his wrath was in +full proportion to the offence. Nor did he again utter his misgivings, +but was full of his usual alacrity and life, as though daylight had +restored his buoyancy.</p> +<p>James, on the way back to the thanksgiving mass, interceded for last +night’s offenders, as an act of grace suitable to the occasion; +but Henry was inexorable.</p> +<p>‘Had they stood to die like Englishmen, they had not lied like +dogs! ‘he said; ‘and as dogs they shall hang!’</p> +<p>In fact, in the critical state of his army, he knew that the only +safety lay in the promptest and sternest justice; and therefore the +three foremost in accusing King James of treachery were hung long before +noon.</p> +<p>However, he called for the two Yorkshiremen, and thus addressed them: +‘Well done, my masters! Thanks for showing Scots and Frenchmen +what stuff Englishmen are made of! I keep my word, good fellows. +Kneel down, and I’ll dub each a knight. How now! what are +you blundering and whispering for?’</p> +<p>‘So please you, Sir,’ said Kitson, ‘this is no +matter to win one’s spurs for—mere standing still without +a blow.’</p> +<p>‘I would all had that same gift of standing still,’ returned +Henry. ‘What is it sticks in your gizzard, friend? +If ’tis the fees, I take them on myself.’</p> +<p>‘No, Sir,’ hoarsely cried both.</p> +<p>And Kitson explained: ‘Sir, you said you’d knight the +one of us that was foremost. Now, the two being dubbed, we shall +be but where we were before as to Mistress Agnes of Mineshull, unless +of your good-will you would be pleased to let us fight out the wager +of the heriard in all peace and amity.’</p> +<p>Henry burst out laughing, with all his old merriment, as he said, +‘For no Mistress Agnes living can I have honest men’s lives +wasted, specially of such as have that gift of standing still. +If she does not knew her own mind, one of you must get himself killed +by the Frenchmen, not by one another. So kneel down, and we’ll +make your knighthood’s feast fall in with that of my son.’</p> +<p>Thus Sir Christopher Kitson and Sir William Trenton rose up knights; +and bore their honours with a certain bluntness that made them butts, +even while they were the heroes of the day; and Henry, who had resumed +his gay temper, made much diversion out of their mingled shrewdness +and gruffness.</p> +<p>‘So,’ muttered Malcolm to Ralf Percy, ‘we are passed +over in the self-same matter for which these fellows are knighted.’</p> +<p>‘Tush!’ answered Percy; ‘I’d scorn to be +confounded with a couple of clowns like them! Moreover,’ +he added, with better reason, ‘their valour was more exercised +than ours, inasmuch as they thought there was treachery, and we did +not. No, no; when my spurs are won, it shall be for some prowess, +better than standing stock-still.’</p> +<p>Malcolm held his tongue, unwilling that Percy should see that he +did feel this an achievement; but he was vexed at the lack of reward, +fancying that knighthood would be no small step in the favour of that +imaginary Esclairmonde whom he had made for himself.</p> +<p>‘Light of the world’ he loved to call her still, but +it was in the commonplace romance of his time, the mere light of beauty +and grace illuminating the world of chivalry.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII: THE CAPTURE</h2> +<p>The seven months’ siege ended at last, but it was not until +the brightness of May was on the fields outside, and the deadly blight +of famine on all within, that a haggard, wasted-looking deputation came +down from the upper city to treat with the King.</p> +<p>Henry was never severe with the inhabitants of French cities, and +exacted no harsh terms, save that he insisted that Vaurus, the robber +captain, and his two chief lieutenants, should be given up to him to +suffer condign punishment. The warriors who had shut themselves +up to hold out the place by honourable warfare for the Dauphin must +be put to ransom as prisoners of war; but the burghers were to be unmolested, +on condition of their swearing allegiance to Henry as regent for, and +heir of, Charles VI.</p> +<p>To this the deputies consented, and the next day was fixed for the +surrender. The difficulty was, as Henry had found at Harfleur, +Rouen, and many other places, to enforce forbearance on his soldiery, +who regarded plunder as their lawful prey, the enemy as their natural +game, and the trouble a city had given them as a cause for unmercifulness. +The more time changed his army from the feudal gathering of English +country gentlemen and yeomen to mercenary bands of men-at-arms, the +mere greedy, rapacious, and insubordinate became their temper. +Well knowing the greatness of the peril, and that the very best of his +captains had scarcely the will, if they had the power, to restrain the +license that soon became barbarity unimaginable, he spoke sadly overnight +of his dread of the day of surrender, when it might prove impossible +to prevent deeds that would be not merely a blot on his scutcheon, but +a shame to human nature; looking back to the exultation with which he +had entered Harfleur as a mere effect of boyish ignorance and thoughtlessness.</p> +<p>Having taken all possible precautions, he stood in his full armour, +with the fox’s brush in his helmet, under the great elm in the +market-place, received the keys, accepted the sword of the captain commissioned +by Charles with royal courtesy, gave his hand to be kissed by the mayor; +and then, with grave inexorable air, like a statue of steel, watched +as the freebooter Vaurus and his two chief companions were led down +with their hands tied, halters round their necks, and priests at their +sides, preparing them to be hung on that very tree. They were +proud hard men, and uttered no entreaty for grace. They had hung +too many travellers upon these same branches not to expect their own +turn, and they were no cravens to abase themselves.</p> +<p>That act of justice ended, Henry mounted his warhorse and rode in +at the gates. His wont was to go straight to the principal church, +and there attend a solemn mass of thanksgiving; but experience had taught +him that his devotions were the very opportunity of his men’s +rapine: he had therefore arranged that as soon as he should have arrived +in the choir of the cathedral, James should take his place, and he slip +out by a side door, so as to return to the scene of action.</p> +<p>In full procession he and his suite reached the chief door, and there +dismounted in an immense crowd, which thronged in at the doors.</p> +<p>‘Come, Glenuskie,’ said Ralf Percy, as the two youths +were pushed chose together in the press; ‘if you have a fancy +for being smothered in the minster, I have none. We shall never +be missed. ’Twill be sport to walk round and see how these +hardy rogues contrived to hold out.’</p> +<p>Malcolm willingly turned aside with him, and looked down the sloping +street, which was swarming with comers and goers. The whole place +was in an inflammable state. Soldiers were demanding quarters, +which the citizens unwillingly gave. A refusal or expostulation +against a rough entry led to violence; and ever as the two youths walked +farther from the cathedral, there was more of excitement, more rude +oaths of soldiers, more shrieking of women, often crying out even before +any harm was done to them or their houses.</p> +<p>At last, before a tall overhanging house, there was an immense press, +and a frightful din of shouts and imprecations, filling both the new-comers +with infectious eagerness.</p> +<p>‘How now? how now?’ called Percy. ‘Keep the +peace, good fellows.’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ cried a number of voices, passionately, ‘the +French villains have barred their door. There’s a lot of +cowardly Armagnacs hid there with their gold, trying to balk honest +men of their ransom.’</p> +<p>Such was the cry resounding on all sides. ‘Have at them! +There’s the rogue at the windows. Out on the fellows! +Burn down the door! ’Tis Vaurus himself and all his gold. +Treason! treason!’</p> +<p>The clamour was convincing to the spirit, if not to the senses. +The two lads believed in the concealed Armagnacs, or perhaps more truly +were carried away by the vehemence around them; and with something of +the spirit of the chase, threw themselves headlong into the affair.</p> +<p>‘Open! open!’ shouted Ralf. ‘Open, in the +name of King Henry!’</p> +<p>An old man’s face peeped through a little wicket in the door, +and at sight of the two youths, evidently of high rank, said in a trembling +voice, ‘Alas! alas! Sir, bid these cruel men go away. +I have nothing here—no one—only my sick daughter.’</p> +<p>‘You hear,’ said Malcolm, turning round; ‘only +his sick daughter.’</p> +<p>‘Sick daughter!—old liar! Here’s an honest +tinker makes oath he has hoards of gold laid up for Vaurus, and ten +Armagnacs hidden in his house. Have at him! Bring fire!’</p> +<p>Blows hailed thick on the door; a flaming torch was handed over the +heads of the throng; horrible growls and roars pervaded them. +Malcolm and Ralf, furious at the cheat, stood among the foremost, making +so much noise themselves between thundering and reviling, and calling +out, ‘Where are the Armagnacs? Down with the traitors!’ +that they were not aware of a sudden hush behind them, till a buffet +from a heavy hand fell on Malcolm’s shoulder, and a mighty voice +cried ‘Shame! shame! What, you too!’</p> +<p>‘There are traitors hid here, Sir,’ said Percy, in angry +self-justification.</p> +<p>‘And what an if there are? Back, every one of you! rogues +that you be!—Here, Fitzhugh, see those villains back to the camp. +Let their arms be given up to the Provost-marshal.—Kites and crows +as you are! Away, out with you!’</p> +<p>Henry pointed to the broken door, and the cowed and abashed soldiers +slunk away from the terrible light of his eyes. No man could stand +before the face of the King.</p> +<p>There was a stillness. He stood leaning on his sword, his chest +heaving with his panting breaths. He was naturally as fleet as +the swift-footed Achilles, but the winter had told upon him, and the +haste with which he had rushed to the rescue left him breathless and +speechless, while he seemed as it were to nail the two lads to the spot +by his steady gaze of mingled distress and displeasure.</p> +<p>Neither could brook his eye: Percy hung his head like a boy in a +scrape; Malcolm quailed with terror, but at the same time felt a keen +sense of injury in being thus treated as a plunderer, and the blow under +which his shoulder ached seemed an indignity to his royal blood.</p> +<p>‘Boys,’ said Henry, still low and breathlesly, but all +the more impressively, ‘what is to become of honour and mercy +if such as you must needs become ravening wolves at scent of booty?’</p> +<p>‘It was not booty, Sir; they said traitors were hid here,’ +said Percy, sulkily.</p> +<p>‘Tush! the old story! Ever the plea for rapine and bloodthirstiness. +After the warnings of last night you should have known better; but you +are all alike in frenzy for a sack. You have both put off your +knighthood till you have learnt not to become a shame thereto.’</p> +<p>‘I take not knighthood at your hands, Sir,’ burst out +Malcolm, goaded with hot resentment, but startled the next moment at +the sound of his own words.</p> +<p>‘I cry you mercy,’ said King Henry, in a cold, short +tone.</p> +<p>Malcolm turned on his heel and walked away, without waiting to see +how the poor old man in the house threw himself at the King’s +feet with a piteous history of his sick daughter and her starving children, +nor how Ralf hurried off headlong to the lower town to send them immediate +relief in bread, wine, and doctors. The gay, good-natured, thoughtless +lad no mere harboured malice for the chastisement than if his tutor +had caught him idling; but things went deeper with Malcolm. True, +he had undergone many a brutal jest and cruel practical joke from his +cousins; but that was all in the family, not like a blow from an alien +king, and one not apologized for, but followed up by a rebuke that seemed +to him unjust, lowering him in his own eyes and those of Esclairmonde, +and making him ready to gnaw himself with moody vexation.</p> +<p>‘You here, Malcolm!’ said King James, entering his quarters; +‘did you miss me in the throng? I have not seen you all +day.’</p> +<p>‘I have been insulted, Sir,’ said Malcolm. ‘I +pray your license to depart and carry my sword to my kinsmen in the +French camp.’</p> +<p>‘How now! Is it the way to treat an insult to run away +from it?’</p> +<p>‘Not when the world judges men to be on equal terms, my lord.’</p> +<p>‘What! Who has done you wrong, you silly loon?’</p> +<p>‘King Henry, Sir; he struck me with his fist, and rated me +like his hound; and I will not eat another morsel of his bread unless +he would answer it to me in single combat.’</p> +<p>‘Little enough bread you’d eat after that same answer!’ +ejaculated James. ‘Oh! I understand now. You +were with young Hotspur and the rest that set on the poor townsmen, +and Harry made small distinction of persons! Nay, Malcolm, it +was ill in you, that talked of so loathing spulzie!’</p> +<p>‘I wanted no spulzie. There were Armagnacs hid in the +house, and the King would not hear us.’</p> +<p>‘He knew that story too well. Were you asleep or idling +last night, when he warned all, on no plea whatever, to break into a +house, but, if the old tale of treachery came up, to set a guard, and +call one of the captains? Did you hear him—eh?’</p> +<p>‘I can take chiding from you, Sir, but neither words nor blows +from any other king in Christendom, still less when he threatens me +that I have deferred my knighthood! As if I would have it from +him!’</p> +<p>‘From me you will not have it until he have pardoned Ralf Percy,’ +said James, dryly. ‘Malcolm, I had not thought you such +a fule body! Under a captain’s banner, what can be done +but submit to his rule? I should do so myself, were Salisbury +or March in command.’</p> +<p>‘Then, Sir,’ said Malcolm, much hurt that the King did +not take his part, ‘I shall carry my service elsewhere.’</p> +<p>‘So,’ said James, much vexed, ‘this is the meek +lad that wanted to hide in a convent from an ill world, flying off from +his king and kinsman that he may break down honest men’s doors +at his will.’</p> +<p>‘That I may be free from insult, Sir.’</p> +<p>‘You think John of Buchan like to cosset you! You found +the Black Douglas so courtly to me the other day as to expect him to +be tender to this nicety of yours! Malcolm, as your prince and +guardian, I forbid this folly, and command you to lay aside this fit +of malice and do your devoir. What! sobbing, silly lad—where’s +your manhood?’</p> +<p>‘Sir, Sir, what will they think of me—the Lady Esclairmonde +and all—if they hear I have sat down tamely with a blow?’</p> +<p>‘She will never think about you at all but as a sullen malapert +ne’er-do-weel, if you go off to that camp of <i>routiers</i>, +trying to prop a bad cause because you cannot take correction, nor observe +discipline.’</p> +<p>A sudden suspicion came over Malcolm that the King would not thus +make light of the offence, if it had really been the inexpiable insult +he had supposed it, and the thought was an absolute relief; for in effect +the parting from James, and joining the party opposed to Esclairmonde’s +friends, would have been so tremendous a step, that he could hardly +have contemplated it in his sober senses, and he murmured, ‘My +honour, Sir,’ in a tone that James understood.</p> +<p>‘Oh, for your honour—you need not fear for that! +Any knight in the army could have done as much without prejudice to +your honour. Why, you silly loon, d’ye think I would not +have been as angered as yourself, if your honour had been injured?’</p> +<p>Malcolm’s heart felt easier, but he still growled. ‘Then, +Sir, if you assure me that I can do so without detriment to my honour, +I will not quit you.’</p> +<p>James laughed. ‘It might have been more graciously spoken, +my good cousin, but I am beholden to you.’</p> +<p>Malcolm, ashamed and vexed at the sarcastic tone, held his tongue +for a little while, but presently exclaimed, ‘Will the Bishop +of Thérouenne hear of it?’</p> +<p>James laughed. ‘Belike not; or, if he should, it would +only seem to him the reasonable training of a young squire.’</p> +<p>The King did not say what crossed his own mind, that the Bishop of +Thérouenne was more likely to think Henry over-strict in discipline, +and absurdly rigorous.</p> +<p>The prelate, Charles de Luxemburg, brother to the Count de St. Pol, +had made several visits to the English camp. He was one of these +princely younger sons, who, like Beaufort at home, took ecclesiastical +preferments as their natural provision, and as a footing whence they +might become statesmen. He was a great admirer of Henry’s +genius, and, as the chief French prelate who was heartily on the English +side, enjoyed a much greater prominence than he could have done at either +the French or Burgundian Court. He and his brother of St. Pol +were Esclairmonde’s nearest kinsmen—‘oncles à +la mode de Bretagne,’ as they call the relationship which is here +sometimes termed Welsh uncle, or first cousins once removed—and +from him James had obtained much more complete information about Esclairmonde +than he could ever get from the flighty Duchess.</p> +<p>Her mother, a beautiful Walloon, had been heiress to wide domains +in Hainault, her father to great estates in Flanders, all which were +at present managed by the politic Bishop. Like most of the statesman-secular-clergy, +the Bishop hated nothing so much as the monastic orders, and had made +no small haste to remove his fair niece from the convent at Dijon, where +she had been educated, lest the Cistercians should become possessed +of her lands. He had one scheme for her marriage; but his brother, +the Count, had wished to give her to his own second son, who was almost +an infant; and the Duke of Burgundy had designs on her for his half-brother +Boëmond; and among these various disputants, Esclairmonde had never +failed to find support against whichever proposal was forced upon her, +until the coalition between the Dukes of Burgundy and Brabant becoming +too strong, she had availed herself of Countess Jaqueline’s discontent +to evade them both.</p> +<p>The family had, of course, been much angered, and had fully expected +that her estates would go to some great English abbey, or to some English +lord whose haughty reserve and insularity would be insupportable. +It was therefore a relief to Monseigneur de Thérouenne to hear +James’s designs; and when the King further added, that he would +be willing to let the claims on the Hainault part of her estates be +purchased by the Count de St. Pol, and those in Flanders by the Duke +of Burgundy, the Bishop was delighted, and declared that, rather than +such a negotiation should fail, he would himself advance the sum to +his brother; but that the Duke of Burgundy’s consent was more +doubtful, only could they not do without it?</p> +<p>And he honoured Malcolm with a few words of passing notice from time +to time, as if he almost regarded him as a relation. No doubt +it would have been absurd to fly from such chances as these to Patrick +Drummond and the opposite camp; and yet there were times when Malcolm +felt as if he should get rid of a load on his heart if he were to break +with all his present life, hurry to Patrick, confess the whole to him, +and then—hide his head in some hermitage, leaving his pledge unforfeited!</p> +<p>That, however, could not be. He was bound to the King, and +might not desert him, and it was not unpleasant to brood over the sacrifice +of his own displeasure.</p> +<p>‘See,’ said Henry, in the evening, as he came into the +refectory and walked up to James, ‘I have found my signet. +It was left in the finger of my Spanish glove, which I had not worn +since the beginning of winter. Thanks to all who took vain pains +to look for it.’</p> +<p>But Malcolm did not respond with his pleased look to the thanks. +He was not in charity with Henry, and crept out of hearing of him, while +James was saying, ‘You had best destroy one or the other, or they +will make mischief. Here, I’ll crush it with the pommel +of my sword.’</p> +<p>‘Ay,’ said Henry, laughing, ‘you’d like to +shew off one of your sledge-hammer blows—Sir Bras de Fer! +But, Master Scot, you shall not smash the English shield so easily. +This one hangs too loose to be safe; I shall keep it to serve me when +we have fattened up at Paris, after the leanness of our siege.’</p> +<p>‘Hal,’ said James, seeing his gay temper restored, ‘you +have grievously hurt that springald of mine. His northern blood +cannot away with the taste he got of your fist.’</p> +<p>‘Pretty well for your godly young monk, to expect to rob unchecked!’ +laughed Henry.</p> +<p>‘He will do well at last,’ said James. ‘Manhood +has come on him with a rush, and borne him off his feet; nor would I +have him over-tame.’</p> +<p>‘There spake the Scot!’ said Henry. ‘By my +faith, Jamie, we should have had you the worst robber of all had we +not caught you young! Well, what am I do for this sprig of royalty? +Say I struck unawares? Nay, had I known him, I’d have struck +with as much of a will as his slight bones would bear.’</p> +<p>‘An you love me, Hal, do something to cool his ill blood, and +remove the sense of shame that sinks a lad in his own eyes.’</p> +<p>‘Methought,’ said Henry, ‘there was more shame +in the deed than in the buffet.’</p> +<p>Nevertheless the good-natured King took an occasion of saying: ‘My +Lord of Glenuskie, I smote without knowing you. It was no place +for a prince—nay, for any honest man; otherwise no hand should +have been laid on my guest or my brother’s near kinsman. +And whereas I hear that both you and my fiery hot Percy verily credited +the cry that prisoners were hid in that house, let me warn you that +never was place yielded on composition but some villain got up the shout, +and hundreds of fools followed it, till they learnt villainy in their +turn. Therefore I ever chastise transgression of my command to +touch neither dwelling nor inhabitant. You have both learnt your +lesson, and the lion rampant and he of the straight tail will both be +reined up better another time.’</p> +<p>Malcolm had no choice but to bend his head, mutter something, and +let the King grasp his hand, though to him the apology seemed none at +all, but rather to increase the offence, since the blame was by no means +taken back again, while the condescension was such as could not be rejected, +and thus speciously took away his excuse for brooding over his wrath. +His hand lay so unwillingly in that strong hearty clasp that the King +dropped it, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered to himself, +‘Sullen young dog! No Scot can let bygones be bygones!’ +and then he turned away and cast the trifle from his memory.</p> +<p>James was amazed not to see the moody face clear up, and asked of +Malcolm whether he were not gratified with this ample satisfaction.</p> +<p>‘I trow I must be, Sir,’ said Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘I tell thee, boy,’ said James, ‘not one king—nay, +not one man—in a thousand would have offered thee the frank amends +King Harry hath done this day: nay, I doubt whether even he could so +have done, were it not that the hope of his wife’s coming hath +made him overflow with joy and charity to all the world.’</p> +<p>Malcolm did not make much reply, and James regarded him with some +disappointment. The youth was certainly warmly attached to him, +but these tokens of superiority to the faults of his time and country +which had caused the King to seek him for a companion seemed to have +vanished with his feebleness and timidity. The manhood that had +been awakened was not the chivalrous, generous, and gentle strength +of Henry and his brothers, but the punctilious pride and sullenness, +and almost something of the license, of the Scot. The camp had +not proved the school of chivalry that James, in his inexperience, had +imagined it must be under Henry, and the tedium and wretchedness of +the siege had greatly added to its necessary evils by promoting a reckless +temper and willingness to snatch at any enjoyment without heed to consequences. +Close attendance on the kings had indeed prevented either Malcolm or +Percy from even having the temptation of running into any such lengths +as those gentry who had plundered the shrine of St. Fiacre at Breuil, +or were continually galloping off for an interval of dissipation at +Paris; but they were both on the outlook for any snatch of stolen diversion, +for in ceasing from monastic habits Malcolm seemed to have laid aside +the scruples of a religious or conscientious youth, and specially avoided +Dr. Bennet, the King’s almoner.</p> +<p>James feared he had been mistaken, and looked to the influence of +Esclairmonde to repair the evil, if perchance she should follow the +Queen to France. And this it was almost certain she must do, since +she was entirely dependent upon the Countess of Hainault, and could +not obtain admission to a nunnery without recovering a portion of her +estates.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX: THE DANCE OF DEATH</h2> +<p>The Queen was coming! No sooner had the first note of surrender +been sounded from the towers of Meaux, than Henry had sent intelligence +to England that the way was open for the safe arrival of his much-loved +wife; and at length, on a sunny day in May, tidings were received that +she had landed in France, under the escort of the Duke of Bedford.</p> +<p>Vincennes, in the midst of its noble forest, was the place fixed +for the meeting of the royal pair; and never did a happier or more brilliant +cavalcade traverse those woodlands than that with which Henry rode to +the appointed spot.</p> +<p>All the winter, the King had heeded appearances as little as of old +when roughing it with Hotspur in Wales; but now his dress was of the +most royal. On his head was a small green velvet cap, encircled +by a crown in embroidery; his robe was of scarlet silk, and over it +was thrown a mantle of dark green samite, thickly powdered with tiny +embroidered white antelopes; the Garter was on his knee, the George +on his neck. It was a kingly garb, and well became the tall slight +person and fair noble features. During these tedious months he +had looked wan, haggard, and careworn; but the lines of anxiety were +all effaced, his lustrous blue eyes shone and danced like Easter suns, +his complexion rivalled the fresh delicate tints of the blossoms in +the orchards; and when, with a shyness for which he laughed at himself, +he halted to brush away any trace of dust that might offend the eye +of his ‘dainty Kate,’ and gaily asked his brother king if +he were sufficiently pranked out for a lady’s bower, James, thinking +he had never seen him so handsome, replied:</p> +<p>‘Like a young bridegroom—nay, more like a young suitor.’</p> +<p>‘You’re jealous, Jamie—afraid of being outshone. +’Tis is your own fault, man; none can ever tell whether you be +in festal trim or not.’</p> +<p>For King James’s taste was for sober, well-blending hues; and +as he never lapsed into Henry’s carelessness, his state apparel +was not very apparently dissimilar from his ordinary dress, being generally +of dark rich crimson, blue, or russet, with the St. Andrew’s cross +in white silk on his breast, or else the ruddy lion, but never conspicuously; +and the sombre hues always seemed particularly well to suit his auburn +colouring.</p> +<p>Malcolm, in scarlet and gold, was a far gayer figure, and quite conscious +of the change in his own appearance—how much taller, ruddier, +and browner he had become; how much better he held himself both in riding +and walking; and how much awkwardness and embarrassment he had lost. +No wonder Esclairmonde had despised the sickly, timid, monkish school-boy; +and if she had then shown him any sort of grace or preference, what +would she think of the princely young squire he could new show her, +who had seen service, had proved his valour, and was only not a knight +because of King Henry’s unkindness and King James’s punctilio?—at +any rate, no child to be brow-beaten and silenced with folly about cloistral +dedication, but a youth who had taken his place in the world, and could +allege that his inspiration had come through her bright eyes.</p> +<p>Would she be there? That was the chief anxiety: for it was +not certain that either she or her mistress would risk themselves on +the Continent; and Catherine had given no intimation as to who would +be in her suite—so that, as Henry had merrily observed, he was +the only one in the whole party who was not in suspense, except indeed +Salisbury, who had sent his commands to his little daughter to come +out with the Queen.</p> +<p>‘She is come!’ cried Henry. ‘Beforehand with +us, after all;’ and he spurred his horse on as he saw the banner +raised, and the escort around the gate; and in a few seconds more he +and his companions had hurried through the court, where the ladies had +scarcely dismounted, and hastened into the hall, breaking into the seneschal’s +solemn reception of the Queen.</p> +<p>‘My Kate, my fairest! Mine eyes have been hungry for +a sight of thee.’</p> +<p>And Catherine, in her horned head-gear and flutter of spangled veil, +was almost swallowed up in his hearty embrace; and the fervency of his +great love so far warmed her, that she clung to him, and tenderly said, +‘My lord, it is long since I saw you.’</p> +<p>‘Thou wert before me! Ah! forgive thy tardy knight,’ +he continued, gazing at her really enhanced beauty as if he had eyes +for no one else, even while with lip and hand, kiss, grasp, and word, +he greeted her companions, of whom Jaqueline of Hainault and John of +Bedford were the most prominent.</p> +<p>‘And the babe! where is he?’ then cried he. ‘Let +me have him to hold up to my brave fellows in the court!’</p> +<p>‘The Prince of Wales?’ said Catherine. ‘You +never spake of my bringing him.’</p> +<p>‘If I spake not, it was because I doubted not for a moment +that you would keep him with you. Nay, verily it is not in sooth +that you left him. You are merely sporting with use.’</p> +<p>‘Truly, Sir,’ said Catherine, ‘I never guessed +that you would clog yourself with a babe in the cradle, and I deemed +him more safely nursed at Windsor.’</p> +<p>‘If it be for his safety! Yet a soldier’s boy should +thrive among soldiers,’ said the King, evidently much disappointed, +and proceeding to eager inquiries as to the appearance and progress +of his child; to which the Queen replied with a certain languor, as +though she had no very intimate personal knowledge of her little son.</p> +<p>Other eyes were meanwhile eagerly scanning the bright confusion of +veils and wimples; and Malcolm had just made out the tall head and dark +locks under a long almost shrouding white veil far away in the background +behind the Countess of Hainault, when the Duke of Bedford came up with +a frown of consternation on his always anxious face, and drawing King +James into a window, said, ‘What have you been doing to him?’—to +which James, without hearing the question, replied, ‘Where is +<i>she</i>?’</p> +<p>‘Joan? At home. It was the Queen’s will. +Of that another time. But what means this?’ and he signed +towards his brother. ‘Never saw I man so changed.’</p> +<p>‘Had you seen him at Christmas you might have said so,’ +replied James; ‘but now I see naught amiss; I had been thinking +I had never seen him so fair and comely.’</p> +<p>‘I tell you, James,’ said Bedford, contracting his brows +till they almost met ever his arched nose, ‘I tell you, his look +brings back to me my mother’s, the last time she greeted my father!’</p> +<p>‘To your fantasy, not your memory, John! You were a mere +babe at her death.’</p> +<p>‘Of five years,’ said Bedford. ‘That face—that +cough—have brought all back—ay, the yearning look when my +father was absent, and the pure rosy fairness that Harry and Tom cited +so fiercely against one who would have told them how sick to death she +was. I mind me too, that when our grandame of Hereford made us +motherless children over to our grandsire of Lancaster, it was with +a warning that Harry had the tender lungs of the Bohuns, and needed +care. One deadly sickness he had at Kenilworth, when my father +was ridden for post-haste. My mind misgave me throughout this +weary siege; but his service held me fast at home, and I trusted that +you would watch over him.’</p> +<p>‘A man like him is ill to guide,’ said James; ‘but +he is more himself now than he has been for months, and a few weeks’ +quiet with his wife will restore him. But what is this?’ +he proceeded in his turn; ‘why is the Lady Joan not here?’</p> +<p>‘How can I tell? It was no fault of mine. I even +got a prim warning that it became me not to meddle about her ladies, +and I doubted what slanders you might hear if I were seen asking your +Nightingale for a token.’</p> +<p>‘Have you none! Good John, I know you have.’</p> +<p>John smiled his ironical smile, produced from the pouch at his girdle +a small packet bound with rose-coloured silk, and said: ‘The Nightingale +hath a plume, you see, and saith, moreover, that her knight hath done +his devoir passably, but that she yet looks to see him send some captive +giant to her feet. So, Sir Knight, I hope your poor dwarf hath +acquitted him well in your chivalrous jargon.’</p> +<p>James smiled and coloured with pleasure; the fantastic message was +not devoid of reality in the days when young imaginative spirits tried +to hide the prose of war and policy in a bright mist of romantic fancy; +nor was he ashamed to bend his manly head in reverence to, and even +press to his lips, his lady’s first love-letter, in the very sight +of the satirical though sympathizing Bedford, of whom he eagerly asked +of the fair Joan’s health and welfare, and whether she were flouted +by Queen Catherine.</p> +<p>‘No more than is the meed of her beauty,’ said Bedford. +‘Sister Kate likes not worship at any shrine save one. Look +at our suite: our knights—yea, our very grooms are picked for +their comeliness; to wit that great feather-pated oaf of a Welshman, +Owen Tudor there; while dames and demoiselles, tire-women and all, are +as near akin as may be to Sir Gawain’s loathly lady.’</p> +<p>‘Not at least the fair Luxemburg. Did not I see her stately +mien?’</p> +<p>‘She is none of the Queen’s, and moreover she stands +aloof, so that the women forgive her gifts! There is that cough +of Harry’s again! He is the shadow of the man he was; I +would I knew if this were the step-dame’s doing.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, John, when you talk to me of Harry’s cough, and +of night-watches and flooded camps, I hearken; but when your wits run +wool-gathering after that poor woman, making waxen images stuck full—’</p> +<p>‘You are in the right on’t, James,’ said Henry, +who had come up to them while he was speaking. ‘John will +never get sorceries out of his head. I have thought it over, and +will not be led into oppressing my father’s widow any more. +I cannot spend this Pentecost cheerily till I know she is set free and +restored to her manors; and I shall write to Humfrey and the Council +to that effect.’</p> +<p>And as John shrugged his shoulders, Henry gaily added: ‘Thou +seest what comes of a winter spent with this unbeliever Jamie; and truly, +I found the thought of unright to my father’s widow was a worse +pin in my heart than ever she is like to thrust there.’</p> +<p>Thus then it was, that in the overflowing joy and good-will of his +heart, and mayhap with the presentiment which rendered him willing to +be at peace with all his kindred, Henry forgave and released his step-mother, +Joan of Navarre, whom common rumour termed the Witch Queen, and whom +he had certainly little reason to love, whether it were true or not +that she had attempted to weave spells against him. In fact, there +were few of the new-comers from England who did not, like Bedford, impute +the transparency of Henry’s hands, and the hollowness of his brightly-tinted +cheek, to some form of sorcery.</p> +<p>Meantime, Esclairmonde de Luxemburg, more beautiful than ever under +a still simpler dress, had greeted Malcolm with her wonted kindness; +adding, with a smile, that he was so much grown and embrowned that she +should not have known him but for the sweet Scottish voice which he, +like his king, possessed.</p> +<p>‘You do me too much grace in commending aught that is mine, +madame,’ said Malcolm, with an attempt at the assurance he believed +himself to have acquired; but he could only finish by faltering and +blushing. There was a power of repression about Esclairmonde that +annihilated all his designs, and drove him back into his bashful self +whenever he came into contact with her, and felt how unlike the grave +serene loftiness of her presence was to the mere queen of romance, that +in her absence her shadow had become.</p> +<p>Alice Montagu, returning to her side, relieved while disconcerting +him. Sweet little Alice had been in a continual flutter ever since +commands had come from Meaux that she was to come out to meet the father +whom she had not seen since what seemed like half her childish lifetime, +and the betrothed whom she had never seen at all; and Lady Westmoreland +had added to her awe by the lengthened admonition with which she took +leave of her. And on this day, when Esclairmonde herself had arrayed +the fair child in the daintiest of rose-pink boddices edged with swan’s-down, +the whitest of kirtles, and softest of rosy veils, the flush of anxiety +on the pale little face made it so fair to look upon, that as the maiden +wistfully asked, ‘Think you he will flout me?’ it was impossible +not to laugh at the very notion. ‘Ah! but I would be glad +if he did, for then I might bide with you.’</p> +<p>When, in the general greeting, Alice had been sought out by a tall, +dark-browed, grizzled warrior, Esclairmonde had, cruelly, as the maiden +thought, kept her station behind the Countess, and never stirred for +all those wistful backward glances, but left her alone to drop on her +knee to seek the blessing of the mighty old soldier.</p> +<p>And now she was holding his great hand, almost as tough as his gauntlets, +and leading him up to her friend, while he louted low, and spoke with +a grand fatherly courtesy:</p> +<p>‘Fair demoiselle, this silly wench of mine tells me that you +have been good friend to her, and I thank you for the same with all +mine heart.’</p> +<p>‘Silly’ was a fond term of love then, and had all the +affection of a proud father in it, as the Earl of Salisbury patted the +small soft fingers in his grasp.</p> +<p>‘Truly, my lord,’ responded Esclairmonde, ‘the +Lady Alice hath been my sweetest companion, friend, and sister, for +these many months.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, child, art worthy to be called friend by such a lady +as this? If so, I shall deem my little Alice grown a woman indeed, +as it is time she were—Diccon Nevil is bent on the wedding before +we go to the wars again.’</p> +<p>Alice coloured like a damask rose, and hid her face behind her friend.</p> +<p>‘Hast seen him, sweet?’ asked Esclairmonde, when Salisbury +had been called away. ‘Is he here?’</p> +<p>‘Yes; out there—he with the white bull on his surcoat,’ +said Alice, dreading to look that way.</p> +<p>‘And hast spoken with him?’ asked the lady next, feeling +as if the stout, commonplace, hardy-looking soldier she saw was scarce +what she would have chosen for her little wild rose of an Alice, comely +and brave though he were.</p> +<p>‘He hath kissed mine hand,’ faltered Alice, but it was +quite credible that not a word had passed. The marriage was a +business contract between the houses of Wark and Raby, and a grand speculation +for Sir Richard Nevil, that was all; but gentle Alice had no reluctance +beyond mere maidenly shyness, and unwillingness to enter on an unknown +future under a new lord. She even whispered to her dear Clairette +that she was glad Sir Richard never tormented her by talking to her, +and that he was grave, and so old.</p> +<p>‘So old? why, little one, he can scarce be seven-and-twenty!’</p> +<p>‘And is not that old? oh, so old!’ said Alice. +‘Able to take care of me. I would not have a youth like +that young Lord of Glenuskie. Oh no—never!’</p> +<p>‘That is well,’ said Esclairmonde, smiling; ‘but +wherefore put such disdain in thy voice, Alice? He used to be +our playfellow, and he hath grown older and more manly in this year.’</p> +<p>‘His boyhood was better than such manhood,’ said Alice; +‘he was more to my taste when he was meek, than now that he seems +to say, “I would be saucy if I durst.” And he hath +not the stuff to dare any way.’</p> +<p>‘Fie! fie! Alice, you are growing slanderous.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, now, Clairette, own verily—you feel the like!’</p> +<p>‘Hush, silly one, what skills it? Youths must pass through +temptation; and if his king hindered his vocation, maybe the poor lad +may rue it sorely, but methinks he will come to the right at last. +It were better to say a prayer for his faults than to speak evil of +them, Alice.’</p> +<p>Poor Malcolm! He was at that very moment planning with an embroiderer +a robe wherein to appear, covered with flashes of lightning transfixing +the world, and mottoes around—‘Esclairé mais Embrasé’</p> +<p>Every moment that he was absent from Esclairmonde was spent in composing +chivalrous discourses in which to lay himself at her feet, but the mere +sight of her steady dark eyes scattered them instantly from his memory; +and save for very shame he would have entreated King James again to +break the ice for him, since the lady evidently supposed that she had +last year entirely quashed his suit. And in this mood Malcolm +mounted and took his place to ride into Paris, where the King wished +to arrive in the evening, and with little preparation, so as to avoid +the weary length of a state reception, with all its speeches and pageants.</p> +<p>In the glow of a May evening the cavalcade passed the gates, and +entered the city, where the streets were so narrow that it was often +impossible to ride otherwise than two and two. The foremost had +emerged into an open space before a church and churchyard, when there +was a sudden pause, a shock of surprise. All across the space, +blocking up the way, was an enormous line of figures, looking shadowy +in the evening light, and bearing the insignia of every rank and dignity +that earth presented. Popes were there, with triple crown and +keys, and fanned by peacock tails; scarlet-matted and caped cardinals, +mitred and crosiered bishops, crowned and sceptred kings, ermined dukes, +steel-clad knights, gowned lawyers, square-capped priests, cowled monks, +and friars of every degree—nay, the mechanic with his tools, the +peasant with his spade, even the beggar within his dish; old men, and +children of every age; and women too of all grades—the tower-crowned +queen, the beplumed dame, the lofty abbess, the veiled nun, the bourgeoise, +the peasant, the beggar;—all were there, moving in a strange shadowy +wild dance, sometimes slow, sometimes swift and mad with gaiety, to +the music of an unseen band of clashing kettle-drums, cymbals, and other +instruments, that played fast and furiously; while above all a knell +in the church tower rang forth at intervals a slow, deep, lugubrious +note; and all the time there glided in and out through the ring a grisly +being—skull-headed, skeleton-boned, scythe in hand—Death +himself; and ever and anon, when the dance was swiftest, would he dart +into the midst, pounce on one or other, holding an hour-glass to the +face, unheeding rank, sex, or age, and bear his victim to the charnel-house +beside the church. It was a sight as though some terrible sermon +had taken life, as though the unseen had become visible, the veil were +taken away; and the implicit unresisting obedience of the victims added +to the sense of awful reality and fatality.</p> +<p>The advance of the victorious King Henry made no difference to the +continuousness of the frightful dance; nay, it was plain that he was +but in the presence of a monarch yet more victorious than himself, and +the mazes wound on, the performers being evidently no phantoms, but +as substantial as those who beheld them; nay, the grisly ring began +to absorb the royal suite within itself, and an awe-stricken silence +prevailed—at least, where Malcolm Stewart and Ralf Percy were +riding together.</p> +<p>Neither lad durst ask the other what it meant. They thought +they knew too well. Percy ceased not for one moment to cross himself, +and mutter invocations to the saints; Malcolm’s memory and tongue +alike seemed inert and paralyzed with horror—his brain was giddy, +his eyes stretched open; and when Death suddenly turned and darted in +his direction, one horrible gush of thought—‘Fallen, fallen! +Lost, lost! No confession!’—came over him; he would +have sobbed out an entreaty for mercy and for a priest, but it became +a helpless shriek; and while Percy’s sword flashed before his +eyes, he felt himself falling, death-stricken, to the earth, and knew +no more.</p> +<p>‘There—he moved,’ said a voice above him.</p> +<p>‘How now, Glenuskie?’ cried Ralf Percy. ‘Look +up; I verily thought you were sped by Death in bodily shape; but ’twas +all an abominable grisly pageant got up by some dismal caitiffs.’</p> +<p>‘It was the Danse Macabre,’ added the sweet tone that +did indeed unclose Malcolm’s eyes, to see Esclairmonde bending +over him, and holding wine to his lips. Ralf raised him that he +might swallow it, and looking round, he saw that he was in a small wainscoted +chamber, with an old burgher woman, Ralf Percy, and Esclairmonde; certainly +not in the other world. He strove to ask ‘what it meant,’ +and Esclairmonde spoke again:</p> +<p>‘It is the Danse Macabre; I have seen it in Holland. +It was invented as a warning to those of sinful life, and this good +woman tells me it has become the custom to enact it every evening at +this churchyard of the Holy Innocents.’</p> +<p>‘A custom I devoutly hope King Harry will break!’ exclaimed +Ralf. ‘If not, I’ll some day find the way between +those painted ribs of Monseigneur de la Mort, I can tell him! +I had nearly given him a taste of my sword as it was, only some Gascon +rogue caught my arm, and he was off ere I could get free. So I +jumped off, that your poor corpse should not be trodden by French heels; +and I hardly know how it was, but the Lady Esclairmonde was by my side +as I dragged you out, and caused these good folks to let me bring you +in behind their shop.’</p> +<p>‘Lady, lady, I am for ever beholden,’ cried Malcolm, +gathering himself up as if to fall at her feet, and his heart bounding +high with joy, for this was from death to life indeed.</p> +<p>‘I saw there was some one hurt,’ said Esclairmonde in +her repressive manner. ‘Drink some more wine, eat this bread, +and you will be able to ride to the Hôtel de St. Pol.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, lady, let me speak of my bliss!’ and he snatched +at her hand, but was still so dizzy that he sank back, becoming aware +that he was stiff and bruised from his fall. Almost at the same +moment a new step and voice were heard in the little open booth where +the cutler displayed his wares, and King James was at once admitted.</p> +<p>‘How goes it, laddie?’ he asked. ‘They told +me grim Death had clutched you and borne you off to his charnel-house; +but at least I see an angel has charge of you.’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde slightly coloured as she made answer:</p> +<p>‘I saw some one fall, and came to offer my poor skill, Sir; +but as the Sieur de Glenuskie is fast recovering, if you will permit +Sir Nigel Baird to attend me, Sir, I will at once return.’</p> +<p>‘I am ready—I am not hurt. Oh, let us go together!’ +panted Malcolm, leaping up.</p> +<p>‘Eh, gentlemen!’ exclaimed the hospitable cutler’s +wife; ‘you will not away so fast! This gallant knight will +permit you to remain. And the fair lady, she will do me the honour +to drink a cup of wine to the recovery of her betrothed.’</p> +<p>‘Not so, good woman,’ said Esclairmonde, a little apart, +‘I am the betrothed of Heaven. I only assisted because I +feared the youth’s fall was more serious than it proves.’</p> +<p>The bourgeoise begged pardon, and made a curtsey; there was nothing +unusual in the avowal the lady had made, when the convent was a thoroughly +recognized profession; but Esclairmonde could not carry out her purpose +of departing separately with old Sir Nigel Baird; Malcolm was on his +feet, quite ready to mount, and there was no avoiding the being assisted +to her saddle by any but the King, who was in truth quite as objectionable +a companion, as far as appearances went, for a young solitary maiden, +as was Malcolm himself. Esclairmonde felt that her benevolence +might have led her into a scrape. When she had seen the fall, +knowing that to the unprepared the ghastly pageant must seem reality, +she had obeyed the impulse to hurry to the rescue, to console and aid +in case of injury, and she had not even perceived that her female companions +did not attempt to accompany her. However, the mischance could +best be counteracted by simplicity and unconsciousness; so, as she found +herself obliged to ride by the King, she unconcernedly observed that +these fantastic dances might perhaps arouse sinners, but that they were +a horrible sight for the unprepared.</p> +<p>‘Very like a dream becoming flesh and blood,’ said James. +‘We in advance were slow to perceive what it was, and then the +King merely thought whether it would alarm the Queen.’</p> +<p>‘I trow it did not.’</p> +<p>‘No; the thing has not been found that will stir her placid +face. She merely said it was very lugubrious, and an ill turn +in the Parisians thus to greet her, but they were always senseless <i>bêtes</i>; +and he, being relieved of care for her, looked with all his eyes, with +a strange mixture of drollery at the antics and the masques, yet of +grave musing at the likeness to this present life.’</p> +<p>‘I think,’ said Esclairmonde, ‘that King Henry +is one of the few men to whom the spectacle <i>is</i> a sermon. +He laughs even while he lays a thing to heart.’</p> +<p>These few sentences had brought them to the concourse around the +gateway of the great Hôtel de St. Pol, in whose crowded courtyard +Esclairmonde had to dismount; and, after being handed through the hall +by King James, to make her way to the ladies’ apartments, and +there find out, what she was most anxious about, how Alice, who had +been riding at some distance from her with her father, had fared under +the alarm.</p> +<p>Alice ran up to her eagerly. ‘Ah, dear Clairette, and +was he greatly hurt?’</p> +<p>‘Not much; he had only swooned for fright.’</p> +<p>‘Swooned! to be a prince, and not have the heart of a midge!’</p> +<p>‘And how was it with you, you very wyvern for courage?’</p> +<p>‘With me? Oh, I was somewhat appalled at first, when +my father took hold of my rein, and bade me never fear; for I saw his +face grow amazed. Sir Richard Nevil rode up on the other side, +and said the hobgoblins should eat out his heart ere they hurt me; and +I looked into his face as he said that, and liked it more than ever +I thought to like any but yours, Clairette. I think my father +was going to leave me to him and see whether the King needed some one +to back him; but up came a French lord, and said ’twas all a mere +show, and my father said he was glad I was a stout-hearted wench that +had never cried out for fear; and then I was so pleased, that I never +heeded the ugly sight any more. Ay, and when Sir Richard lifted +me off my horse, he kissed my hand of his own accord.’</p> +<p>‘This is all he has ever said to you?’ said Esclairmonde, +smiling. ‘It is like an Englishman—to the purpose.’</p> +<p>‘Yea, is it not? Oh! is it not better than all the fine +speeches and compliments that Joan Beaufort gets from her Scottish king?’</p> +<p>‘They have truths in them too, child.’</p> +<p>‘Ay; but too fine-spun, too minstrel-like, for a plain English +maid. The hobgoblins should eat out his heart ere they touched +me!’ she repeated to herself, as though the saying were the most +poetical concert sung on minstrel lover’s lute.</p> +<p>Death’s Dance had certainly brought this affianced pair to +a better understanding than all the gayest festivities of the Court.</p> +<p>Esclairmonde would have been happy if no one had noticed her benevolence +to the young Scot save Alice Montagu; but she had to endure countless +railleries from every lady, from Countess Jaqueline downwards, on the +unmistakable evidence that her heart had spoken; and her grave dignity +had less effect in silencing them than usual, so diverting was the alleged +triumph over her propriety, well as they knew that she would have done +the same for the youngest horse-boy, or the oldest man-at-arms.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X: THE WHITSUNTIDE FESTIVAL</h2> +<p>‘Lady, fairest lady! Ah, suffer your slave to fall at +your feet with his thanks!’</p> +<p>‘No thanks are due, Sir. I knew not who had fallen.’</p> +<p>‘Cruel coyness! Take not away the joy that has fed a +hungry heart.’</p> +<p>‘Lord Glenuskie’s heart was wont to hunger for better +joys.’</p> +<p>‘Lady, I have ceased to be a foolish boy.’</p> +<p>‘Such foolishness was better than some men’s wisdom.’</p> +<p>‘Listen, belle demoiselle. I have been forth into the +world, and have learnt to see that monasteries have become mere haunts +for the sluggard, who will not face the world; and that honour, glory, +and all that is worth living for, lie beyond. Ah, lady! those +eyes first taught me what life could give.’</p> +<p>‘Hush, Sir!’ said Esclairmonde. ‘I can believe +that as a child you mistook your vocation, and the secular life may +be blest to you; but with me it can never be so; and if any friendship +were shown to you on my part, it was when I deemed that we were brother +and sister in our vows. If I unwittingly inspired any false hopes, +I must do penance for the evil.’</p> +<p>‘Call it not evil, lady,’ entreated Malcolm. ‘It +cannot be evil to have wakened me to life and hope and glory.’</p> +<p>‘What should you call it in him who should endeavour to render +Lady Joan Beaufort faithless to your king, Lord Malcolm? What +then must it be to tempt another to break troth-plight to the King of +Heaven?’</p> +<p>‘Nay, madame,’ faltered Malcolm; ‘but if such troth +were forbidden and impossible?’</p> +<p>‘None has the right or power to cancel mine,’ replied +the lady.</p> +<p>‘Yet,’ he still entreated, ‘your kindred are mighty.’</p> +<p>‘But my Bridegroom is mightier,’ she said.</p> +<p>‘O lady, yet—Say, at least,’ cried Malcolm, eagerly, +‘that were you free in your own mind to wed, at least you would +less turn from me than from the others proposed to you.’</p> +<p>‘That were saying little for you,’ said Esclairmonde, +half smiling. ‘But, Sir,’ she added gravely, ‘you +have no right to put the question; and I will say nothing on which you +can presume.’</p> +<p>‘You were kinder to me in England,’ sighed Malcolm, with +tears in his eyes.</p> +<p>‘Then you seemed as one like-minded,’ she answered.</p> +<p>‘And,’ he cried, gathering fresh ardour, ‘I would +be like-minded again. You would render me so, sweetest lady. +I would kiss your every step, pray with you, bestow alms with you, found +churches, endow your Béguines, and render our change from our +childish purpose a blessing to the whole world; become your very slave, +to do your slightest bidding. O lady, could I but give you my +eyes to see what it might be!’</p> +<p>‘It could not be, if we began with a burthened conscience,’ +said Esclairmonde. ‘We have had enough of this, Sieur de +Glenuskie. You know that with me it is no matter of likes or dislikes, +but that I am under a vow, which I will never break! Make way, +Sir.’</p> +<p>He could but obey: she was far too majestic and authoritative to +be gainsaid. And Malcolm, in an access of misery, stood lost to +all the world, kneeling in the window-seat, where she had left him resting +his head against the glass, when suddenly a white plump hand was laid +on his shoulder, and a gay voice cried:</p> +<p>‘All <i>à la mort</i>, my young damoiseau! What, +has our saint been unpropitious? Never mind, you shall have her +yet. We will see her like the rest of the world, ere we have done +within her!’</p> +<p>And Malcolm found himself face to face with the free-spoken Jaqueline +of Hainault.</p> +<p>‘You are very good, madame,’ he stammered.</p> +<p>‘You shall think me very good yet! I have no notion of +being opposed by a little vassal of mine; and we’ll succeed, if +it were but for the fun of the thing! Monseigneur de Thérouenne +is on your side, or would be, if he were sure of the Duke of Burgundy. +You see, these prelates hate nothing so much as the religious orders; +and all the pride of the Luxemburgs is in arms against Clairette’s +fancy for those beggarly nursing Sisters; so it drives him mad to hear +her say she only succoured you for charity. He thinks it a family +disgrace, that can only be wiped off by marrying her to you; and he +would do it <i>bon gré, mal gré</i>, but that he waits +to hear what Burgundy will say. You have only to hold out, and +she shall be yours, if I hold her finger while you put on the ring. +Only let us be sure of Burgundy.’</p> +<p>This was not a very flattering way of obtaining a bride; but Malcolm +was convinced that when once married to Esclairmonde, his devotion would +atone to her for all that was unpleasant in obtaining her. At +least, she loved no one else; she had even allowed that she had once +thought him like-minded; she had formerly distinguished him; and nothing +lay between them but her scruples; and when they were overcome, by whatever +means, his idol would be his, to adore, to propitiate, to win by the +most intense devotion. All now must, however, turn upon the Duke +of Burgundy, without whose sanction Madame of Hainault would be afraid +to act openly.</p> +<p>The Duke was expected at Paris for the Whitsuntide festival, which +was to be held with great state. The custom was for the Kings +of France to feast absolutely with all Paris, with interminable banquet +tables, open to the whole world without question. And to this +Henry had conformed on his first visit to the city; but he had learnt +that the costly and lavish feast had been of very little benefit to +the really distressed, who had been thrust aside by loud-voiced miscreants +and sturdy beggars, such as had no shame in driving the feeble back +with blows, and receiving their own share again and again.</p> +<p>By the advice of Dr. Bennet, his almoner, he was resolved that this +should not happen again; that the feast should be limited to the official +guests, and that the cost of the promiscuous banquet should be distributed +to those who really needed it, and who should be reached through their +parish priests and the friars known to be most charitable.</p> +<p>Dr. Bennet, as almoner, with the other chaplains, was to arrange +the matter; and horrible was the distress that he discovered in the +city, that had for five-and-twenty years been devastated by civil fury, +as well as by foreign wars; and famines, pestilences, murders, and tyrannies +had held sway, so as to form an absolute succession of reigns of terror. +The poor perished like flies in a frost; the homeless orphans of the +parents murdered by either faction roamed the streets, and herded in +the corners like the vagrant dogs of Eastern cities; and meantime, the +nobles and their partisans revelled in wasteful pomp.</p> +<p>Scholar as he was, Dr. Bennet was not familiar enough with Parisian +ways not to be very grateful for aid from Esclairmonde in some of his +conferences, and for her explanations of the different tastes and needs +of French and English poor.</p> +<p>What she saw and heard, on the other hand, gave form and purpose +to her aspirations. The Dutch Sisters of St. Bega, the English +Bedeswomen of St. Katharine, were sorely needed at Paris. They +would gather up the sufferers, collect the outcast children, feed the +hungry, follow with balm wherever a wound had been. To found a +Béguinage at Paris seemed to her the most befitting mode of devoting +her wealth; and her little admirer, Alice, gave up her longing desire +that the foundation should be in England, when she learned that, as +the wife of Nevil, her abode was likely to be in France as long as that +country required English garrisons.</p> +<p>To the young heiress of Salisbury, her own marriage, though close +at hand, seemed a mere ordinary matter compared with Esclairmonde’s +Béguinage, to her the real romance. Never did she see a +beggar crouching at the church door, without a whisper to herself that +there was a subject for the Béguines; and, tender-hearted as +she was, she looked quite gratified at any lamentable tale which told +the need.</p> +<p>If Esclairmonde had a climax to her visions of her brown-robed messengers +of mercy, it was that the holy Canon of St. Agnes should be induced +to come and act the part of master to her bedeswomen, as did Master +Kedbesby at home.</p> +<p>She had even dared to murmur her design to Dr. Bennet; and when he, +under strict seal of secrecy, had sounded King Henry, the present real +master of Paris, he reported that the tears had stood in the King’s +eyes for a moment, as he said, ‘Blessings on the maiden! +Should she be able to do this for this city, I shall know that Heaven +hath indeed sent a blessing by my arms!’</p> +<p>For one brief week, Esclairmonde and Alice were very happy in this +secret hope; but at the end of that time the Bishop of Thérouenne +appeared. Esclairmonde had ventured to hope that the King’s +influence, and likewise the fact that her intention was not to enrich +one of the regular monastic orders, might lead him to lend a favourable +ear to her scheme; but she was by no means prepared to find him already +informed of the affair of the Dance of Death, and putting his own construction +on it.</p> +<p>‘So, my fair cousin, this is the end of your waywardness. +The tokens were certainly somewhat strong; but the young gentleman’s +birth being equal to yours, after the spectacle you have presented, +your uncle of St. Pol, and I myself, must do our utmost to obtain the +consent of the Duke of Burgundy.’</p> +<p>‘Monseigneur is mistaken,’ said Esclairmonde.</p> +<p>‘Child, we will have no more folly. You have flown after +this young Scot in a manner fitted only for the foolish name your father +culled for you out of his books of chivalry. You have given a +lesson to the whole Court and city on the consequences of a damsel judging +for herself, and running a mad course over the world, instead of submitting +to her guardians.’</p> +<p>‘The Court understands my purpose as well as you do, Monseigneur.’</p> +<p>‘Silence, Mademoiselle. Your convent obstinacy is ended +for ever now, since to send you to one would be to appear to hide a +scandal.’</p> +<p>‘I do not wish to enter a convent,’ said Esclairmonde. +‘My desire is to dedicate my labour and my substance to the foundation +of a house here at Paris, such as are the Béguinages of our Netherlands,’</p> +<p>The Bishop held up his hands. He had never heard of such lunacy +and it angered him, as such purposes are wont to anger worldly-hearted +men. That a lady of Luxemburg should have such vulgar tastes as +to wish to be a Beguine was bad enough; but that Netherlandish wealth +should be devoted to support the factious poor of Paris was preposterous. +Neither the Duke of Burgundy, nor her uncle of St. Pol, would allow +a sou to pass out of their grasp for so absurd a purpose; the Pope would +give no license—above all to a vain girl, who had helped a wife +to run away from her husband—for new religious houses; and, unless +Esclairmonde was prepared to be landless, penniless, and the scorn of +every one, for her wild behaviour, she must submit, <i>bon gré, +mal gré</i>, to become the wife of the Scottish prince.</p> +<p>‘Landless and penniless then will I be, Monseigneur,’ +said Esclairmonde. ‘Was not poverty the bride of St. Francis?’</p> +<p>The Bishop made a growl of contempt; but recollecting himself, and +his respect for the saint, began to argue that what was possible for +a man, a mere merchant’s son, an inspired saint besides, was not +possible to a damsel of high degree, and that it was mere presumption, +vanity, and obstinacy in her to appeal to such a precedent.</p> +<p>There was something in this that struck Esclairmonde, for she was +conscious of a certain satisfaction in her plan of being the first to +introduce a Béguinage at Paris, and that she was to a certain +degree proud of her years of constancy to her high purpose; and she +looked just so far abashed that the uncle saw his advantage, and discoursed +on the danger of attempting to be better than other people, and of trying +to vapour in spiritual heights, to all of which she attempted no reply; +till at last he broke up the interview by saying, ‘There, then, +child; all will be well. I see you are coming to a better mind.’</p> +<p>‘I hope I am, Monseigneur,’ she replied, with lofty meekness; +‘but scarcely such as you mean.’</p> +<p>Alice Montagu’s indignation knew no bounds. What! was +this noble votaress to be forced, not only to resign the glory of being +the foundress of a new order of beneficence, but to be married, just +like everybody else, and to that wretched little coward? Boëmond +of Burgundy was better than that, for he at least was a man!</p> +<p>‘No, no, Alice,’ said Esclairmonde, with a shudder; ‘any +one rather than the Burgundian! It is shame even to compare the +Scot!’</p> +<p>‘He may not be so evil in himself,’ said Alice; ‘but +with a brave man you have only his own sins, while a coward has all +those other people may frighten him into.’</p> +<p>‘He bore himself manfully in battle,’ said the fair Fleming +in reproof.</p> +<p>But Alice answered with the scorn that sits so quaintly on the gentle +daughter of a bold race: ‘Ay, where he would have been more afraid +to run than to stand.’</p> +<p>‘You are hard on the Scot,’ said Esclairmonde. +‘Maybe it is because the Nevils of Raby are Borderers,’ +she added, smiling; and, as Alice likewise smiled and blushed, ‘Now, +if it were not for this madness, I could like the youth. I would +fain have had him for a brother that I could take care of.’</p> +<p>‘But what will you do, Esclairmonde?’</p> +<p>‘Trust,’ said she, sighing. ‘Maybe, my pride +ought to be broken; and I may have to lay aside all my hopes and plans, +and become a mere serving sister, to learn true humility. Anyhow, +I verily trust to my Heavenly Spouse to guard me for himself. +If the Duke of Burgundy still maintains Boëmond’s suit, then +in the dissension I see an escape.</p> +<p>‘And my father will defend you; and so will Sir Richard,’ +said Alice, with complacent certainty in their full efficiency. +‘And King Harry will interfere; and we <i>will</i> have your hospital; +ay, we <i>will</i>. How can you talk so lightly of abandoning +it?’</p> +<p>‘I only would know what is human pride, and what God’s +will,’ sighed Esclairmonde.</p> +<p>The Duke arrived with his two sisters, his wife being left at home +in bad health, and took up his abode at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, +whence he came at once to pay his respects to the King of England; the +poor King of France, at the Hotel de St. Pol, being quite neglected.</p> +<p>Esclairmonde and Alice stood at a window, and watched the arrival +of the magnificent cavalcade, attended by a multitude, ecstatically +shouting, ‘Noel Noel! Long live Philippe le Bon! Blessings +on the mighty Duke!’ While seated on a tall charger, whose +great dappled head, jewelled and beplumed, could alone be seen amid +his sweeping housings, bowing right and left, waving his embroidered +gloved hand in courtesy, was seen the stately Duke, in the prime of +life, handsome-faced, brilliantly coloured, dazzlingly arrayed in gemmed +robes, so that Alice drew a long breath of wonder and exclaimed, ‘This +Duke is a goodly man; he looks like the emperor of us all!’</p> +<p>But when he had entered the hall, conducted by John of Bedford and +Edmund of March, had made his obeisance to Henry, and had been presented +by him to King James, Alice, standing close behind her queen, recollected +that she had once heard Esclairmonde say, ‘Till I came to England +I deemed chivalry a mere gaudy illusion.’</p> +<p>Duke Philippe would not bear close inspection; the striking features +and full red lips, that had made so effective an appearance in the gay +procession seen from a distance, seemed harsh, haughty, and sensual +near at hand, and when brought into close contact with the strange bright +stern purity, now refined into hectic transparency, of King Henry’s +face, the grand and melancholy majesty of the royal Stewart’s, +or even the spare, keen, irregular visage of John of Bedford. +And while his robes were infinitely more costly than—and his ornaments +tenfold outnumbered—all that the three island princes wore, yet +no critical eye could take him for their superior, even though his tone +in addressing an inferior was elaborately affable and condescending, +and theirs was always the frankness of an equal. Where they gave +the sense of pure gold, he seemed like some ruder metal gilt and decorated; +as if theirs were reality, his the imitation; theirs the truth, his +the display.</p> +<p>But in reality his birth was as princely as theirs; and no monarch +in Europe, not even Henry, equalled him in material resources; he was +idolized by the Parisians; and Henry was aware that France had been +made over to England more by his revenge for his father’s murder +at Montereau than by the victory at Agincourt. Therefore the King +endured his grand talk about <i>our</i> arms and <i>our</i> intentions; +and for Malcolm’s sake, James submitted to a sort of patronage, +as if meant to imply that if Philippe the Magnificent chose to espouse +the cause of a captive king, his ransom would be the merest trifle.</p> +<p>When Henry bade him to the Pentecostal banquet, ‘when kings +keep state,’ he graciously accepted the invitation for himself +and his two sisters, Marguerite, widow of the second short-lived Dauphin, +and Anne, still unmarried; but when Henry further explained his plan +of feasting merely with the orderly, and apportioning the food in real +alms, the Duke by no means approved.</p> +<p>‘Feed those misérables!’ he said. ‘One +gains nothing thereby! They make no noise; whereas if you affront +the others, who know how to cry out, they will revile you like dogs!</p> +<p>‘I will not be a slave to the rascaille,’ said Henry.</p> +<p>‘Ah, my fair lord, you, a victor, may dispense with these cares; +but for a poor little prince like me, it is better to reign in men’s +hearts than on their necks.’</p> +<p>‘In the hearts of honest men—on the necks of knaves,’ +said Henry.</p> +<p>Philippe shrugged his shoulders. He was wise in his own generation; +for he had all the audible voices in Paris on his side, while the cavils +at Henry’s economy have descended to the present time.</p> +<p>‘Do you see your rival, Sir?’ said the voice of the Bishop +of Thérouenne in Malcolm’s ear, just as the Duke had begun +to rise to take leave; and he pointed out a knight of some thirty years, +glittering with gay devices from head to foot, and showing a bold proud +visage, exaggerating the harshness of the Burgundian lineaments.</p> +<p>Malcolm shuddered, and murmured, ‘Such a pearl to such a hog!’</p> +<p>And meanwhile, King James, stepping forward, intimated to the Duke +that he would be glad of an interview with him.</p> +<p>Philippe made some ostentation of his numerous engagements with men +of Church and State; but ended by inviting the King of Scotland to sup +with him that evening, if his Grace would forgive travellers’ +fare and a simple reception.</p> +<p>Thither accordingly James repaired on foot, attended only by Sir +Nigel and Malcolm, with a few archers of the royal guard, in case torches +should be wanted on the way home.</p> +<p>How magnificent were the surroundings of the great Duke, it would +be wearisome to tell. The retainers in the court of the hotel +looked, as James said, as if honest steel and good cloth were reckoned +as churls, and as if this were the very land of Cockaigne, as Sir Richard +Whittington had dreamt it. Neither he nor St. Andrew himself would +know their own saltire made in cloth of silver, ‘the very metal +to tarnish!’</p> +<p>Sir Nigel had to tell their rank, ere the porters admitted the small +company: but the seneschal marshalled them forward in full state. +And James never looked more the king than when, in simple crimson robe, +the pure white cross on his breast, his auburn hair parted back from +his noble brow, he stood towering above all heads, passively receiving +the Duke of Burgundy’s elaborate courtesies and greetings, nor +seeming to note the lavish display of gold and silver, meant to amaze +the poorest king in Europe.</p> +<p>Exceeding was the politeness shown to him—even to the omission +of the seneschal’s tasting each dish presented to the Duke, a +recognition of the presence of a sovereign that the two Scots scarcely +understood enough for gratitude.</p> +<p>Malcolm was the best off of the two at the supper; for James had +of course to be cavalier to the sickly fretful-looking Dauphiness, while +Malcolm fell to the lot of the Lady Anne, who, though not beautiful, +had a kindly hearty countenance and manner, and won his heart by asking +whether the Demoiselle de Luxemburg were still in the suite of Madame +of Hainault; and then it appeared that she had been her convent mate +and warmest friend and admirer in their girlish days at Dijon, and was +now longing to see her. Was she as much set as ever on being a +nun?</p> +<p>Meantime, the Duke was pompously making way for the King of Scots +to enter his cabinet, where—with a gold cup before each, a dish +of comfits and a stoup of wine between them—their interview was +to take place.</p> +<p>‘These dainties accord with a matter of ladies’ love,’ +said James, as the Duke handed him a sugar heart transfixed by an arrow.</p> +<p>‘Good, good,’ said Philippe. ‘The alliance +is noble and our crowns and influence might be a good check in the north +to your mighty neighbour; nor would I be hard as to her dowry. +Send me five score yearly of such knaves as came with Buchan, and I +could fight the devil himself. A morning gift might be specified +for the name of the thing—but we understand one another.’</p> +<p>‘I am not certain of that, Sir,’ said James, smiling; +‘though I see you mean me kindly.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, now,’ continued Philippe, ‘I know how to +honour royalty, even in durance; nor will I even press Madame la Dauphine +on you instead of Anne, though it were better for us all if she could +have her wish and become a queen, and you would have her jointure—if +you or any one else can get it.’</p> +<p>‘Stay, my Lord Duke,’ said James, with dignity, ‘I +spake not of myself, deeming that it was well known that my troth is +plighted.’</p> +<p>‘How?’ said Burgundy, amazed, but not offended. +‘Methought the House of Somerset was a mere bastard slip, with +which even King Henry with all his insolence could not expect you to +wed in earnest. However, we may keep our intentions secret awhile; +and then, with your lances and my resources, English displeasure need +concern you little.’</p> +<p>James, who had learned self-control in captivity, began politely +to express himself highly honoured and obliged.</p> +<p>‘Do not mention it. Royal blood, thus shamefully oppressed, +must command the aid of all that is chivalrous. Speak, and your +ransom is at your service.’</p> +<p>The hot blood rushed into James’s cheek at this tone of condescension; +but he answered, with courteous haughtiness: ‘Of myself, Sir Duke, +there is no question. My ransom waits England’s willingness +to accept it; and my hand is not free, even for the prize you have the +goodness to offer. I came not to speak of myself.’</p> +<p>‘Not to make suit for my sister, nor my intercession!’ +exclaimed Philippe.</p> +<p>‘I make suit to no man,’ said James; then, recollecting +himself, ‘if I did so, no readier friend than the Duke of Burgundy +could be found. I did in effect come to propose an alliance between +one of my own house and a fair vassal of yours.’</p> +<p>‘Ha! the runaway jade of Luxemburg!’ cried Burgundy; +‘the most headstrong girl who lives! She dared to plead +her foolish vows against my brother Boëmond, fled with that other +hoyden of Hainault, and now defies me by coming here. I’ll +have her, and make her over to Boëmond to tame her pride, were +she in the great Satan’s camp instead of King Henry’s.’</p> +<p>And this is the mirror of chivalry! thought James. But he persevered +in his explanation of his arrangement for permitting the estates of +Esclairmonde de Luxemburg to be purchased from her and her husband, +should that husband be Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie; and he soon found +that these terms would be as acceptable to the Duke as they had already +proved to her guardian, Monseigneur de Thérouenne. Money +was nothing to Philippe; but his policy was to absorb the little seignoralties +that lay so thick in these border lands of the Empire; and what he desired +above all, was to keep them from either passing into the hands of the +Church, or from consolidating into some powerful principality, as would +have been the case had Esclairmonde either entered a convent or married +young Waleran de Luxemburg, her cousin. Therefore he had striven +to force on her his half-brother, who would certainly never unite any +inheritance to hers; but he much preferred the purchase of her Hainault +lands; and had no compunction in throwing over Boëmond, except +for a certain lurking desire that the lady’s contumacy should +be chastised by a lord who would beat her well into subjection. +He would willingly have made a great show of generosity, and have laid +James under an obligation; and yet by the King’s dignified tone +of courtesy he was always reduced to the air of one soliciting rather +than conferring a favour.</p> +<p>Finally, Malcolm was called in, and presented to the Duke, making +his own promise on his word of honour as a prince, and giving a written +bond, that so soon as he obtained the hand of the Demoiselle de Luxemburg +he would resign her Hainault estates to the Duke of Burgundy for a sum +of money, to be fixed by persons chosen for the purpose.</p> +<p>This was more like earnest than anything Malcolm had yet obtained; +and he went home exulting and exalted, his doubts as to Esclairmonde’s +consent almost silenced, when he counted up the forces that were about +to bear upon her.</p> +<p>And they did descend upon her. Countess Jaqueline had been +joined by other and more congenial Flemish dames, and was weary of her +grave monitress; and she continually scolded at Esclairmonde for perverseness +and obstinacy in not accepting the only male thing she had ever favoured. +The Bishop of Thérouenne threatened and argued; and the Duke +of Burgundy himself came to enforce his commands to his refractory vassal, +and on finding her still unsubmissive, flew into a rage, and rated her +as few <i>could</i> have done, save Philippe, called the Good.</p> +<p>All she attempted to answer was, that they were welcome to her lands, +so they would leave her person free; her vows were not to man, but to +God, and God would protect her.</p> +<p>It was an answer that seemed specially to enrage her persecutors, +who retorted by telling her that such protection was only extended to +those who obeyed lawful authority; and hints were thrown out that, if +she did not submit willingly, she might find herself married forcibly, +for a bishop could afford to disregard the resistance of a bride.</p> +<p>Would Malcolm—would his king—consent to her being thus +treated?</p> +<p>As to Malcolm, he seemed to her too munch changed for her to reckon +on what remnant of good feeling there might be to appeal to in him. +And James, though he was certain not to permit palpable coercion in +his presence, or even if he were aware that it was contemplated, seemed +to have left the whole management of the affair to Esclairmonde’s +own guardians; and they would probably avoid driving matters to extremities +that would revolt him, while he was near enough for an appeal. +And Esclairmonde was too uncertain whether her guardians would resort +to such lengths, or whether it were not a vain threat of the giddy Countess, +to compromise her dignity by crying out before she was hurt; and she +had no security, save that she was certain that in the English household +of King Henry such violence would not be attempted; and out of reach +of that protection she never ventured.</p> +<p>Once she said to Henry, ‘My only hope is in God and in you, +my lord.’</p> +<p>And Henry bent his head, saying, ‘Noble lady, I cannot interfere; +but while you are in my house, nothing can be done with you against +your will.’</p> +<p>Yet even Henry was scarcely what he had been in all-pervading vigilance +and readiness. Like all real kings of men, he had been his own +prime minister, commander-in-chief, and private secretary, transacting +a marvellous amount of business with prompt completeness; and when, +in the midst of shattered health which he would not avow, the cares +of two kingdoms, and the generalship of an army, with all its garrisons, +rested on him, his work would hardly have been accomplished but for +his brother’s aid. It was never acknowledged, often angrily +disdained. But when John of Bedford had watched the terrible lassitude +and lethargy that weighed on the King at times in the midst of his cabinet +work, he was constantly on the watch to relieve him; and his hand and +style so closely resembled Henry’s that the difference could scarce +be detected, and he could do what none other durst attempt. Many +a time would Henry, whose temper had grown most uncertain, fiercely +rate him for intermeddling; but John knew and loved him too well to +heed; and his tact and unobtrusiveness made Henry rely on him more and +more.</p> +<p>If the illness had only been confessed, those who watched the King +anxiously would have had more hope; but he was hotly angered at any +hint of his needing care; and though he sometimes relieved oppression +by causing himself to be bled by a servant, he never allowed that anything +ailed him; it was always the hot weather, the anxious tidings, the long +pageant that wearied him—things that were wont to be like gnats +on a lion’s mane.</p> +<p>Those solemn banquets and festivals—lasting from forenoon till +eventide, with their endless relays of allegorical subtleties, their +long-winded harangues, noisy music, interludes of giants, sylvan men, +distressed damsels, knights-errant on horseback, ships and forests coming +in upon wheels, and fulsome compliments that must be answered—had +been always his aversion, and were now so heavy an oppression that Bedford +would have persuaded the Queen to curtail them. But to the fair +Catherine this appeared an unkind endeavour of her disagreeable brother-in-law, +to prevent her from shining in her native city, and eclipsing the Burgundian +pomp; and she opened her soft brown eyes in dignified displeasure, answering +that she saw nothing amiss with the King; and she likewise complained +to her husband of his brother’s jealousy of her welcome from her +own people, bringing on him one of Henry’s most bitter sentences.</p> +<p>Henry would only have had her abate somewhat of the splendour that +gratified her, because he did not think it becoming to outshine her +parents; but Catherine scorned the notion. Her old father would +know nothing, or would smile in his foolish way to see her so brave; +and for her mother, she recked not so long as she had a larded capon +before her: nor was it possible to make the young queen understand that +this fatuity and feebleness were the very reasons for deferring to them.</p> +<p>The ordering of the feast fell to Catherine and her train; and its +splendours on successive days had their full development, greatly to +the constraint and weariness, among others, of Esclairmonde, who was +always assigned to Malcolm Stewart, and throughout these long days had +to be constantly repressing him; not that he often durst make her any +direct compliment, for he was usually quelled into anxious wistful silence, +and merely eyed her earnestly, paying her every attention in his power. +And such a silent tedious meal was sure to be remarked, either with +laughing rudeness by Countess Jaqueline, or with severe reproof by the +Bishop of Thérouenne, both of whom assured her that she had better +lay aside her airs, and resign herself in good part, for there was no +escape for her.</p> +<p>One day, however, when the feast was at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, +and there were some slight differences in the order of the guests, the +Duke of Bedford put himself forward as the Lady Esclairmonde’s +cavalier, so much to her relief, that her countenance, usually so guarded, +relaxed into the bright, sweet smile of cheerfulness that was most natural +to her. Isolated as the pairs at the table were, and with music +braying in a gallery just above, there was plenty of scope for conversation; +and once again Esclairmonde was talking freely of the matters regarding +the distress in Paris, that Bedford had consulted her upon before he +became so engrossed with his brother’s affairs, or she so beset +by her persecutors.</p> +<p>Towards the evening, when the feast had still some mortal hours to +last, there fell a silence on the Duke; and at length, when the music +was at the loudest, he said ‘Lady, I have watched for this moment. +You are persecuted. Look not on me as one of your persecutors; +but if no other refuge be open to you, here is one who might know better +how to esteem you than that malapert young Scot.’</p> +<p>‘How, Sir?’ exclaimed Esclairmonde, amazed at these words +from the woman-hating Bedford.</p> +<p>‘Make no sudden reply,’ said John. ‘I had +never thought of you save as one consecrate, till, when I see you like +to be hunted down into the hands of yon silly lad, I cannot but thrust +between. My brother would willingly consent; and, if I may but +win your leave to love you, lady, it will be with a heart that has yearned +to no other woman.’</p> +<p>He spoke low and steadily, looking straight before him, with no visible +emotion, save a little quiver in the last sentence, a slight dilating +of the delicately cut nostril; and then he was silent, until, having +recovered the self-restraint that had been failing him, he prevented +the words she was trying to form by saying, ‘Not in haste, lady. +There is time yet before you to bethink yourself whether you can be +free in will and conscience. If so, I will bear you through all.’</p> +<p>How invitingly the words fell on the lonely heart, so long left to +fight its own battles! There came for the first time the full +sense of what life might be, the shielding tenderness, the sure reliance, +the pure affection, such as she saw Henry lavish on the shallow Queen, +but which she could meet and requite in John. The brutal Boëmond, +the childish Malcolm, had aroused no feeling in her but dislike or pity, +and to them a convent was infinitely preferable; but Bedford—the +religious, manly, brave, unselfish Bedford—opened to her the view +of all that could content a high-souled woman’s heart, backed, +moreover, by the wonder of having been the first to touch such a spirit.</p> +<p>It would not have been a <i>mésalliance</i>. Her family +was one of the grandest of the Netherlands; the saintly Emperor, Henry +of Luxemburg, was her ancestor; and Bedford’s proposal was not +a condescension such as to rouse her sense of dignity. His rank +did not strike her as did his lofty stainless character; the like of +which she had never known to exist in the world of active life till +she saw the brothers of England, who came more near to the armed saints +and holy warriors of Church legend than her fancy had thought mortal +man could do, bred as she had been in the sensual, violent, and glittering +Burgundy of the fifteenth century. In truth, as Malcolm had thought +the cloister the only refuge from the harshness and barbarism of Scotland, +so Esclairmonde had thought piety and purity to be found nowhere else; +and both had found the Court of Henry V. an infinitely better world +than they had supposed possible; but, until the present moment, Esclairmonde +had never felt the slightest call to take a permanent place there. +Now however the cloister, even if it were open to her, presented a gloomy, +cheerless life of austerity, in comparison with human affection and +matronly duty. And most vivid of all at the moment was the desire +to awaken the tender sweetness that slept in those steady gray eyes, +to see the grave, wise visage gleam with smiling affection, and to rest +in having one to take thought for her, and finish this long term of +tossing about and self-defence. Was not the patience with which +he kept his eyes away from her already a proof of his consideration +and delicate kindness?</p> +<p>But deep in Esclairmonde’s soul lay the sense that her dedication +was sacred, and her power over herself gone. She had always felt +a wife’s allegiance due to Him whom she received as her spiritual +Spouse; and though the sense at this moment only brought her disappointment +and self-reproach, her will was loyal. The bond was cutting into +her very flesh, but she never even thought of breaking it; and all she +waited for was the power of restraining her grateful tears.</p> +<p>In this she was assisted by observing that Bedford’s attention +had been attracted towards his brother, who was looking wan and weary, +scarcely tasting what was set before him; and, after fitfully trying +to converse with Marguerite of Burgundy, at last had taken advantage +of an endless harangue from all the Virtues, and had dropped asleep. +The Lady Anne was seen making a sign to her sister not to disturb him; +and Bedford murmured, with a sigh, ‘There is, for once, a discreet +woman.’ Then, as if recalled to a sense of what was passing, +he turned on Esclairmonde his full earnest look, saying, ‘You +will teach the Queen how <i>he</i> should be cared for. You will +help me.’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ said Esclairmonde, feeling it most difficult not +to falter, ‘this is a great grace, but it cannot be.’</p> +<p>‘Cannot!’ said Bedford, slowly. ‘You have +taken thought?’</p> +<p>‘Sir, it is not the part of a betrothed spouse to take thought. +My vows were renewed of my own free will and it were sacrilege to try +to recall them for the first real temptation.’</p> +<p>She spoke steadily, but the effort ached through her whole frame, +especially when the last word illumined John Plantagenet’s face +with strange sweet light, quenched as his lip trembled, his nostril +quivered, his eye even moistened, as he said, ‘It is enough, lady; +I will no more vex one who is vexed enough already; and you will so +far trust me as to regard me as your protector, if you should be in +need?’</p> +<p>‘Indeed I will,’ said Esclairmonde, hardly restraining +her tears.</p> +<p>‘That is well,’ said Bedford. And he neither looked +at her nor spoke to her again, till, as he led her away in the procession +from the hall, he held her hand fast, and murmured: ‘There then +it rests, sweet lady unless, having taken counsel with your own heart, +you should change your decree, and consult some holy priest. If +so, make but a sign of the hand, and I am yours; for verily you are +the only maiden I could ever have loved.’</p> +<p>She was still in utter confusion, in the chamber where the ladies +were cloaking for their return, when her hands were grasped on either +side by the two Burgundian princesses.</p> +<p>‘Sweet runaway, we have caught you at last! Here, into +Anne’s chamber. See you we must! How is it with you? +Like you the limping Scot better than Boëmond?’ laughed the +Dauphiness, her company dignity laid aside for school-girl chatter.</p> +<p>‘If you cannot hold out,’ said Anne, ‘the Scot +seems a gentle youth; and, at least, you are quit of Boëmond.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ said Marguerite, ‘his last prank was too +strong for the Duke: quartering a dozen men-at-arms on a sulky Cambrai +weaver till he paid him 2000 crowns. Besides, it would be well +to get the Scottish king for an ally. Do you know what we two +are here for, Clairette? We are both to be betrothed: one to the +handsome captive with the gold locks; the other to your hawk-nosed neighbour, +who seemed to have not a word to say.’</p> +<p>‘But,’ said Esclairmonde, replying to the easiest part +of the disclosure, ‘the King of Scots is in love with the Demoiselle +of Somerset.’</p> +<p>‘What matters that, silly maid?’ said Marguerite ‘he +does not displease me; and Anne is welcome to that melancholy duke.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, Lady Anne!’ exclaimed Esclairmonde, ‘if such +be your lot, it would be well indeed.’</p> +<p>‘What, the surly brother, of whom Catherine tells such tales!’ +continued Marguerite.</p> +<p>‘Credit them not,’ said Esclairmonde. ‘He +never crosses her but when he would open her eyes to his brother’s +failing health.’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ interrupted Marguerite; ‘my lord brother +swears that this king will not live a year; and if Catherine have no +better luck with her child than poor Michelle, then there will be another +good Queen Anne in England.’</p> +<p>‘If so,’ said Esclairmonde, looking at her friend with +swimming eyes, ‘she will have the best of husbands—as good +as even she deserves!’</p> +<p>Anne held her hand fast, and would have said many tender words on +Esclairmonde’s own troubles; but the other ladies were arrayed, +and Esclairmonde would not for worlds have been left behind in the Hôtel +de Bourgogne.</p> +<p>Privacy was not an attainable luxury, and Esclairmonde could not +commune with her throbbing heart, or find peace for her aching head, +till night. This must be a matter unconfided to any, even Alice +Montagu. And while the maiden lay smiling in her quiet sleep, +after having fondly told her friend that Sir Richard Nevil had really +noticed her new silken kirtle, she knelt on beneath the crucifix, mechanically +reciting her prayers, and, as the beads dropped from her fingers, fighting +out the fight with her own heart.</p> +<p>Her mind was made up; but her sense of the loss, her craving for +the worthy affection which lay within her grasp—these dismayed +her. The life she had sighed for had become a blank; and she passionately +detested the obligation that held her back from affection, usefulness, +joy, and excellence—not ambition, for the greatest help to her +lay in Bedford’s position, his exalted rank, and nearness to the +crown. Indeed, she really dreaded and loathed worldly pomp so +much that the temptation would have been greater had he not been a prince.</p> +<p>It was this sense of renunciation that came to her aid. She +had at least a <i>real</i> sacrifice to offer; till now, as she became +aware, she had made none. She folded her hands, and laid her offering +to be hallowed by the One all-sufficient Sacrifice. She offered +all those capacities for love that had been newly revealed to her; she +offered up the bliss, whose golden dawn she had seen; she tried to tear +out the earthliness of her heart and affections by the roots, and lay +them on the altar, entreating that, come what might, her spirit might +never stray from the Heavenly Spouse of her betrothal.</p> +<p>Therewith came a sense of His perfect sufficiency—of rest, +peace, support, ineffable love, that kept her kneeling in a calm, almost +ecstatic state, in which common hopes, fears, and affections had melted +away.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI: THE TWO PROMISES</h2> +<p>After all, Alice Montagu was married almost privately, and without +any preparation. Tidings came that the Duke of Alençon +was besieging Cosne, a city belonging to the Duke of Burgundy, and that +instant relief was needed. The Duke was urgent with Henry to save +the place for him, and set off at once to collect his brilliant chivalry; +while Henry, rousing at the trumpet-call, declared that nothing ailed +him but pageants, sent orders to all his troops to collect from different +quarters, and prepared to take the command in person; while reports +daily came in of the great muster the Armagnacs were making, as though +determined to offer battle.</p> +<p>Salisbury was determined not to abide the chances of the battle without +first giving a protector to his little daughter; and therefore, as quietly +as if she had been merely going to mass, the Lady Alice was wedded to +her Sir Richard Nevil, who treated the affair as the simplest matter +of course, and troubled himself with very slight demonstrations of affection. +The wedding took place at Senlis, whither the female part of the Court +had accompanied the King, upon the very day of the parting. No +one was present, except one of Sir Richard’s brothers (the whole +family numbered twenty-two), his esquire; and on Alice’s side, +her father, Esclairmonde, and a few other ladies.</p> +<p>At the last moment, however, the King himself came up, leaning on +Warwick’s arm, looking thin, ill, and flushed, but resolved to +do honour to his faithful Salisbury, at whose request he had permitted +the barony of Montagu to be at once transferred to Nevil, who would +thenceforth be called by that title.</p> +<p>After the ceremony, King Henry kissed the gentle bride, placed a +costly ring upon her finger, and gave his best and warmest wishes to +the newly-married pair. Little guessed any there present what +the sound of Warwick and Salisbury would be in forty years’ time +to the babe cradled at Windsor.</p> +<p>As the King passed Esclairmonde, he paused, and said, in an undertone, +‘Dear lady, deem not that I have forgotten your holy purpose; +but you understand that there are some who are jealous of any benefit +conferred on Paris save from themselves, and whose alliance I may not +risk. But if God be pleased to grant me this battle also, then, +with His good pleasure, I shall not be forced to have such respect to +persons; and when I return, lady, whether the endowment come from your +bounty or no, God helping us, you shall begin the holy work of St. Katharine’s +bedeswomen among the poor of Paris.’</p> +<p>But while Henry V., with all his grave sweetness, spoke these words +to Esclairmonde de Luxemburg, this was the farewell of Countess Jaqueline +of Hainault to Malcolm Stewart:</p> +<p>‘Look here, my languishing swain; never mind her scorn, but +win your spurs in the battle that is to be, and then make some excuse +to get back again to us before the two Kings, with all their scruples. +Then beshrew me but she shall be yours! If Monseigneur de Thérouenne +and I cannot manage one proud girl, I am not Countess of Hainault!’</p> +<p>This promise sent him away, planning the enjoyment of conquering +Esclairmonde’s long resistance, and teaching her where to find +happiness. Should he punish her, by being stern and tyrannical +at first? or should his kindness teach her to repent? When he +was a knight, he would be in a condition to assert his authority, he +thought; and of knighthood both he and Ralf Percy felt almost certain, +in that wholesale dubbing of knights that was wont to be the preliminary +of a battle. To be sure, they had indulged in a good many unlicensed +pleasures at Paris—Ralf from sheer reckless love of sport, Malcolm +in his endeavour to forget himself, and to be manly; but they had escaped +detection, and they knew plenty of young Englishmen, and many more Burgundians +and Gascons, who had plunged far deeper into mischief, and thought it +no disgrace, but rather held that there was some special dispensation +for the benefit of warriors.</p> +<p>Malcolm and Ralf were riding with a party of these young men. +King Henry had consented to make his first day’s journey as far +as Corbeil in a litter, since only there he was to meet the larger number +of his troops, whom Bedford and Warwick were assembling. James +was riding close beside him, with his immediate attendants; and the +two youths, not being needed, had joined their comrades with the advanced +guard of the escort.</p> +<p>It was always a fiction maintained by Henry, that he was marching +in a friendly country; plunder was strictly forbidden, and everything +was to be paid for; but unfortunately, the peasantry on his way never +realized this, and the soldiery often took care they should not. +Therefore, when the advanced guard came to the village that had been +marked out for their halt, instead of finding provisions and forage +to be purchased, they met with only bare walls, and a few stray cats; +and while storming and raving between hunger and disappointment, a report +came from somewhere that the inhabitants had fled, and driven off their +cattle to another village some four miles off, in the woods, on the +heights above. Of course, they must be taught reason. It +was true that the men-at-arms, who were under the command of Sir Christopher +Kitson and Sir William Trenton, were obliged to abide where they were, +much as Kitson growled at being unable to procure a draught of wine +for Trenton, whom he had been nursing for weeks under intermitting fever, +caught at Meaux; but the young gentlemen were well pleased to show themselves +under no Yorkshireman’s orders, and galloped off <i>en masse</i> +to procure refreshment for their horses and themselves, further stimulated +by the report that the Armagnacs had left a sick man behind them there, +who might be a valuable prisoner.</p> +<p>By and by, a woodland path brought the disorderly party, about forty +in number, including their servants and the ruffians who always followed +whenever plunder was to be scented, out upon a pretty French village +of the better class, built round a green shaded with chestnuts, under +which, sure enough, were hay-carts, cows, sheep, and goats, and their +owners, taking refuge in a place thought to be out of the track of the +invaders.</p> +<p>Here were the malicious defrauders of the hungry warriors. +Down upon them flew the angry foragers. Soon the pretty tranquil +scene was ringing with the oaths of the plundering and the cries of +the plundered; the cattle were being driven off, the houses and farm-yards +rifled, blood was flowing, and what could not be carried off was burning. +The search for the Armagnac prisoner had, however, relaxed after the +first inquiry, and Malcolm, surprised that this had been forgotten, +suddenly bethought him of the distinction he should secure by sending +a valuable prize to Esclairmonde’s feet. He seized on an +old man who had not been able to fly, and stood trembling and panting +in a corner, and demanded where the sick man was. The old man +pointed to a farm-house, round which clouds of smoke were rolling, and +Malcolm hurried into it, shouting, ‘Dog of an Armagnac, come out! +Yield, ere thou be burnt!’</p> +<p>No answer; and he dashed forward. In the lower room was a sight +that opened his eyes with horror—no other than the shield of Drummond, +with the three wavy lines; ay, and with it the helmet and suit of armour, +whereof he knew each buckle and brace!</p> +<p>‘Patie! Patrick! Patrick Drummond!’ he wildly +shouted, ‘are you there?’</p> +<p>No answer; and seeing through the smoke a stair, he rushed up. +There, in an upper room, on a bed, lay a senseless form, suffocated +perhaps by the smoke, but unmistakably his cousin! He called to +him, seized him, shook him, dragged him out of bed, all in vain; there +was no sign of animation. The fire was gaining on the house; Malcolm’s +own breath was failing, and his frenzied efforts to carry Patrick’s +almost giant form to the stairs were quite unavailing. Wild with +horror, he flew shouting down-stairs to call Halbert, whom he had left +with his horse, but neither Halbert nor horse was in sight, nor indeed +any of the party. Not a man was in sight, except a few hurrying +far out of reach, as if something had alarmed them. He wrung his +hands in anguish, and was about to make another attempt to drag Patrick +down from the already burning house, when suddenly a troop of horse +was among the scene of desolation, and at their head King James himself. +Malcolm flew to the King, cutting short his angry exclamation with the +cry, ‘Help! help! he will burn! Patrick! Patie Drummond! +There!’</p> +<p>James had scarce gathered the sense of the words, ere, leaping from +his horse, he bounded up the stairs, through the smoke, amid flakes +of burning thatch falling from the roof, groped in the dense clouds +of smoke for the senseless weight, and holding the shoulders while Malcolm +held the feet, they sped down the stair, and rested not till they had +laid him under a chestnut tree, out of reach of the crash of the house, +which fell in almost instantly.</p> +<p>‘Does he live?’ gasped Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘He will not,’ said the King, ‘if his nation be +known here. Keep out of his sight! He must hear only French!’</p> +<p>Remembering how inexorably Henry hung every Scotch prisoner, Malcolm’s +heart sank. This was why no one had sought the prisoner. +A Scot was not available for ransom! Should he be the murderer +of his cousin, Lily’s love?</p> +<p>Meantime James hurriedly explained to Kitson that here was the sick +man left by the enemy, summoned Sir Nigel to his side, closed his own +visor, and called for water; then hung over the prisoner, anxious to +prevent the first word from being broad Scotch. In the free air, +some long sobs showed that Patrick was struggling back to life; and +James at once said, ‘Rendez vous, Messire;’ but he neither +answered, nor was there meaning in his eyes. And James perceived +that he was bandaged as though for broken ribs, and that his right shoulder +was dislocated, and no doubt had been a second time pulled out when +Malcolm had grasped him by the arms. He swooned again at the first +attempt to lift him, and a hay-cart having been left in the flight of +the marauders, he was laid in it, and covered with the King’s +cloak, to be conveyed to Corbeil, where James trusted to secure his +life by personal intercession with Henry. He groaned heavily several +times, but never opened his eyes or spoke articulately the whole way; +and James and Sir Nigel kept on either side of the cart, ready to address +him in French the first moment, having told the English that he was +a prisoner of quality, who must be carefully conveyed to King James’s +tent at Corbeil. Malcolm was not allowed to approach, lest he +should be recognized; and he rode along in an agony of shame and suspense, +with very different feelings towards Patrick than those with which he +had of late thought of him, or of his own promises. If Patrick +died through this plundering raid, how should he ever face Lily?</p> +<p>It was nearly night ere they reached Corbeil, where the tents were +pitched outside the little town. James committed his captive to +the prudent care of old Baird, bidding him send for a French or Burgundian +surgeon, unable to detect the Scottish tongue; and then, taking Malcolm +with him, he crossed the square in the centre of the camp to the royal +pavilion, opposite to which his own was pitched.</p> +<p>It was a sultry night, and Henry had insisted on sleeping in his +tent, declaring himself sick of stone walls; and as they approached +his voice could be heard in brief excited sentences, giving orders, +and asking for the King of Scots.</p> +<p>‘Here, Sir,’ said James, stopping in where the curtain +was looped up, and showed King Henry half sitting, half lying, on a +couch of cushions and deer-skins, his eyes full of fire, his thin face +flushed with deep colour; Bedford, March, Warwick, and Salisbury in +attendance.</p> +<p>‘Ho! you are late!’ said Henry. ‘Did you +come up with the caitiff robbers?’</p> +<p>‘They made off as we rode up. The village was already +burnt.’</p> +<p>‘Who were they? I hope you hung them on the spot, as +I bade,’ continued Henry, coughing between his sentences, and +almost in spite of himself, putting his hand to his side.</p> +<p>‘I was delayed. There was a life to save: a gentleman +who lay sick and stifled in a burning house.’</p> +<p>‘And what was it to you,’ cried Henry, angrily, ‘if +a dozen rebel Armagnacs were fried alive, when I sent you to hinder +my men from growing mere thieves? Gentleman, forsooth! One +would think it the Dauphin himself; or mayhap Buchan. Ha! it is +a Scot, then!’</p> +<p>‘Yes, Sir,’ said James; ‘Sir Patrick Drummond, +a good knight, hurt and helpless, for whom I entreat your grace.’</p> +<p>‘You disobeyed me to spare a Scot!’ burst forth Henry. +‘You, who call yourself a captain of mine, and who know my will! +He hangs instantly!’</p> +<p>‘Harry, bethink yourself. This is no captive taken in +battle. He is a sick man, left behind, sorely hurt.’</p> +<p>‘Then wherefore must you be meddling, instead of letting him +burn as he deserved, and heeding what you undertook for me? I +<i>will</i> have none of your traitor ruffians here. Since you +have brought him in, the halter for him!—Here, Ralf Percy, tell +the Provost-marshal—’</p> +<p>He was interrupted, for James unbuckled his sword, and tendered it +to him.</p> +<p>‘King Harry,’ he said gravely, ‘this morning I +was your friend and brother-in-arms; now I am your captive. Hang +Patrick Drummond, who aided me at Meaux in saving my honour and such +freedom as I have, and I return to any prison you please, and never +strike blow for you again.’</p> +<p>‘Take back your sword,’ said Henry. ‘What +folly is this? You knew that I count not your rebel subjects as +prisoners of war.’</p> +<p>‘I did not know that I was saving a defenceless man from the +flames to be used like a dog. I never offered my arm to serve +a savage tyrant.’</p> +<p>‘Take your sword!’ reiterated Henry, his passion giving +way before James’s steady calmness. ‘We will look +into it to-morrow: but it was no soldierly act to take advantage of +my weariness, to let my commands be broken the first day of taking the +field, and bring the caitiff here. We will leave him for the night, +I say. Take up your sword.’</p> +<p>‘Not till I am sure of my liegeman’s life,’ said +James.</p> +<p>‘No threats, Sir. I will make no promise,’ said +Henry, haughtily; but the words died away in a racking cough.</p> +<p>And Bedford, laying his hand on James’s arm, said, ‘He +is fevered and weary. Fret him no longer, but take your sword, +and get your fellow out of the camp.’</p> +<p>James was too much hurt to make a compromise. ‘No,’ +he said; ‘unless your brother freely spares the life of a man +thus taken, I must be his prisoner—but his soldier never!’</p> +<p>He left the tent, followed by Malcolm in an agony of despair and +self-reproach.</p> +<p>Henry’s morning decisions were not apt to vary from his evening +ones. There was a terrible implacability about him at times, and +he had never ceased to visit his brother of Clarence’s death upon +the Scots, on the plea that they were in arms against their king. +Even Bedford obviously thought that the prisoner would be safest out +of his reach; and this could hardly be accomplished, since Patrick had +been placed in James’s tent, in the very centre of the camp, near +the King’s own. And though Bedford and March might have +connived at his being taken away, yet the mass of the soldiery would, +if they detected a Scot being smuggled away into the town, have been +persuaded that King James was acting treacherously.</p> +<p>Besides, the captive himself proved to be so exhausted, that to transport +him any further in his present state would have been almost certainly +fatal. A barber surgeon from Corbeil had been fetched, and was +dealing with the injuries, which had apparently been the effect of a +fall some days previously, probably when on his way to join the French +army at Cosne; and the first fever of these hurts had no doubt been +aggravated by the adventures of the day. At any rate Patrick lay +unconscious, or only from time to time groaning or murmuring a few words, +sometimes French, sometimes Scotch.</p> +<p>Malcolm would have fallen on his knees by his side, and striven to +win a word or a look, but James forcibly withheld him. ‘If +you roused him into loud ravings in our own tongue, all hope of saving +him would be gone,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘Shall we? Oh, can we?’ cried Malcolm, catching +at the mere word <i>hope</i>.</p> +<p>‘I only know,’ said the King, ‘that unless we do +so by Harry’s good-will, I will never serve under him again.’</p> +<p>‘And if he persists in his cruelty?’</p> +<p>‘Then must some means be found of carrying Drummond into Corbeil. +It will go hard with me but he shall be saved, Malcolm. But this +whole army is against a Scot; and Harry’s eye is everywhere, and +his fierceness unrelenting. Malcolm, this <i>is</i> bondage! +May God and St. Andrew aid us!’</p> +<p>When the King came to saying that, it was plain he deemed the case +past all other aid.</p> +<p>Malcolm’s misery was great. The very sight of Patrick +had made a mighty revulsion in his feelings. The almost forgotten +associations of Glenuskie were revived; the forms of his guardian and +of Lily came before him, as he heard familiar names and phrases in the +dear home accent fall from the fevered lips. Coldingham rose up +before him, and St. Abbs, with Lily watching on the rocks for tidings +of her knight—her knight, to whom her brother had once promised +to resign all his lands and honours, but who now lay captured by plunderers, +among whom that brother made one, and in peril of a shameful death. +Oh, far better die in his stead, than return to Lily with tidings such +as these!</p> +<p>Was this retribution for his broken purpose, and for having fallen +away, not merely into secular life, but into sins that stood between +him and religious rites? The King had called St. Andrew to aid! +Must a proof of repentance and change be given, ere that aid would come? +Should he vow himself again to the cloister, yield up the hope of Esclairmonde, +and devote himself for Patrick’s sake? Could he ever be +happy with Patrick dead, and Esclairmonde driven and harassed into being +his wife? Were it not better to vow at once, that so his cousin +were spared he would return to his old purposes?</p> +<p>Almost had he uttered the vow, when, tugging hard at his heart, came +the vision of Esclairmonde’s loveliness, and he felt it beyond +his strength to resign her voluntarily; besides, how Madame of Hainault +and Monseigneur de Thérouenne would deride his uncertainties; +and how intolerable it would be to leave Esclairmonde to fall into the +hands of Boëmond of Burgundy.</p> +<p>Such a renunciation could not be made; he did not even know that +Patrick’s safety depended on it; and instead of that, he promised, +with great fervency of devotion, that if St. Andrew would save Patrick +Drummond, and bring about the two marriages, a most splendid monastery +for educational purposes, such as the King so much wished to found, +should be his reward. It should be in honour of St. Andrew, and +should be endowed with Esclairmonde’s wealth, which would be quite +ample enough, both for this and for a noble portion for Lily. +Surely St. Andrew must accept such a vow, and spare Patrick! So +Malcolm tried to pacify an anguish of suspense that would not be pacified.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII: THE LAST PILGRIMAGE</h2> +<p>The summer morning came; the <i>réveille</i> sounded, Mass +was sung in the chapel tent, without which Henry never moved; and Malcolm +tried to reassure his sinking heart by there pledging his vow to St. +Andrew.</p> +<p>The English king was not present; but the troops were drawing up +in complete array, that he might inspect them before the march. +And a glorious array they were, of steel-clad men-at-arms on horseback, +in bands around their leader’s banner, and of ranks of sturdy +archers, with their long-bows in leathern cases; the orderly multitude, +stretching as far as the eye could reach, glittering in the early sun, +and waiting with bold and glad hearts to greet the much-loved king, +who had always led them to victory.</p> +<p>The only unarmed knight was James of Scotland. He stood in +the space beside the standard of England, in his plain suit of chamois +leather, his crimson cloak over his shoulder, but with no weapon about +him, waiting with crossed arms for the morning’s decision.</p> +<p>Close outside the royal tent waited Henry’s horse, and those +of his brother and other immediate attendants; and after a short interval +the King came forth in his brightest armour, with the coronal on his +helmet, and the beaver up; and as he mounted, not without considerable +aid, enthusiastic shouts of ‘Long live King Harry!’ broke +forth, and came echoing back and back from troop to troop, gathering +fervour as they rose.</p> +<p>The King rode forward towards the standard; but while yet the shouts +were pealing from the army, be suddenly caught at his saddle-bow, reeled +visibly, and would have fallen before Bedford could bring his horse +to his side, had not James sprung forward, and laid one arm round him, +and a hand on his rein.</p> +<p>‘It is nothing,’ said Henry. ‘Let me alone.’</p> +<p>Ere the words were finished, he put his hand to his side, dropped +his bridle, and gasped, while a look of intense suffering passed over +his features; and he was passive while his horse was led back to the +tent, and he was lifted down and placed on the couch he had just quitted.</p> +<p>‘Loose my belt,’ he gasped; then trying to smile, ‘Percy +has strained it three holes tighter.’</p> +<p>Alas! though it was indeed thus drawn in, his armour was hanging +on him like the shell of a last year’s nut. They released +him from it, and he lay against the cushions with short painful respiration, +and frequent cough.</p> +<p>‘You must go on with the men at once, John,’ he said. +‘I will but be blooded, and follow in the litter.’</p> +<p>‘Warwick and Salisbury—’ began Bedford.</p> +<p>‘No, no!’ peremptorily gasped Henry. ‘It +must be you or I, I would, but this stitch in the side catches me, so +that I can neither ride nor speak. Go, instantly. You know +what I have ordered. I’ll be up with you ere the battle.’</p> +<p>He brooked no resistance. His impatience, and with it the oppression +and pain, only grew by remonstrance; and Bedford was forced to obey +the command to go himself, and leave no one he could help behind him.</p> +<p>‘You will stay, at least,’ said John, in his distress, +turning to the Scottish king.</p> +<p>‘I must,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘You hold not your wrath?’ said Bedford. ‘It +will madden me to leave him to any save you in this stress. Some +are dull; some he will not heed.’</p> +<p>‘I will tend him like yourself, John,’ said the Scot, +taking his hand. ‘Do what he may, Harry is Harry still. +Hasten to your command, John; he will be calmer when you are gone.’</p> +<p>Bedford groaned. It was hard to leave his brother at a moment +when he must be more than himself—become general of an army, with +a battle imminent; but he was under dire necessity, and forced himself +to listen to and gather the import of the few terse orders and directions +that Henry, breathless as he was, rendered clear and trenchant as ever.</p> +<p>The King almost drove his brother away at last, while a barber was +taking a copious stream of blood from him; and as the army had already +been set in motion, a great stillness soon prevailed, no one being left +save a small escort, and part of the King’s own immediate household, +for Henry had himself ordered away Montagu, his chamberlain, Percy, +and almost all on whom his eyes fell. The bleeding relieved him; +he breathed less tightly, but became deadly pale, and sank into a doze +of extreme exhaustion.</p> +<p>‘Who is here?’ he said, awakening. ‘Some +drink! What you, Jamie! You that were on fire to see a stricken +field!’</p> +<p>‘Not so much as to see you better at ease,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘I am better,’ said Henry. ‘I could move +now; and I must. This tent will stifle me by noon.’</p> +<p>‘You will not go forward?’</p> +<p>‘No; I’ll go back. A sick man is best with his +wife. And I can battle it no further, nor grudge the glory of +the day to John. He deserves it.’</p> +<p>The irascible sharpness had passed from his voice and manner, and +given place to a certain languid cheerfulness, as arrangements were +made for his return to Vincennes.</p> +<p>There proved to be a large and commodious barge, in which the transit +could be effected on the river, with less of discomfort than in the +springless horse litter by which he had travelled the day before; and +this was at once prepared.</p> +<p>Malcolm had meanwhile remained, as in duty bound, in attendance on +his king. James had found time to enjoin him to stay, being, to +say the truth, unwilling to trust one so inexperienced and fragile in +the <i>mêlée</i> without himself; nor indeed would this +have been a becoming moment for him to put himself forward to win his +spurs in the English cause.</p> +<p>Nothing had passed about Patrick Drummond, nor the high words of +last night. Henry seemed to have forgotten them, between his bodily +suffering and the anxiety of being forced to relinquish the command +just before a battle; and James would have felt it ungenerous to harass +him at such a moment, when absolutely committed to his charge. +For the present, there was no fear of the prisoner being summarily executed +by any lawful authority, since the King had promised to take cognizance +of the case; and the chief danger was from his chance discovery by some +lawless man-at-arms, who would think himself doing good service by killing +a concealed Scot under any circumstances.</p> +<p>Drummond himself, after his delirious night, had sunk into a heavy +sleep; and the King thought the best hope for him would be to remain +under the care of Sir Nigel Baird for the present, until he could obtain +favour for him from Henry, and could send back orders from Vincennes. +He would not leave Malcolm to share the care of him, declaring that +the canny Sir Nigel would have quite enough to do in averting suspicion +without him; and, besides, he needed Malcolm himself, in the scarcity +of attendants who had any tenderness or dexterity of hand to wait upon +the suffering King.</p> +<p>Henry had rallied enough to walk down to the river, leaning upon +James; and he smiled thanks when he was assisted by Trenton and Kitson +to lie along on cushions. ‘So, my Yorkshire knights,’ +he said, ‘’tis you that have had to stop from the battle +to watch a sick man home!’</p> +<p>‘Ay, Sir,’ said Sir Christopher; ‘I did it with +the better will, that Trenton here has not been his own man since the +fever; and ‘twere no fair play in the matter your Grace wets of, +did I go into battle whole and sound, and he sick and sorry.’</p> +<p>Henry’s look of amusement brightened him into his old self, +as he said, ‘Honester guards could I scarce have, good friend.’</p> +<p>At that moment, after a nudge or two from Trenton, Kitson and he +came suddenly down on their knees, with an impetus that must have tried +the boards of the bottom of the barge. ‘Sir,’ said +Kitson, always the spokesman, ‘we have a grace to ask of you.’</p> +<p>‘Say on,’ said Henry. ‘Any boon, save the +letting you cut one another’s throats.’</p> +<p>‘No, Sir. Will Trenton’s scarce my match now, more’s +the pity; and, moreover, we’ve lost the good will to it we once +had. No, Sir; ’twas license to go a pilgrimage.’</p> +<p>‘On pilgrimage!’</p> +<p>‘Ay, Sir; to yon shrine at Breuil—St. Fiacre’s, +as they call him. Some of our rogues pillaged his shrine, as you +know, Sir; and those that know these parts best, say he was a Scottish +hermit, and bears malice like a Scot, saint though he be; and that your +sickness, my lord, is all along of that. So we two have vowed +to go barefoot there for your healing, my liege, if so be we have your +license.’</p> +<p>‘And welcome, with my best thanks, good friends,’ said +Henry, exerting himself to lean forward and give his hand to their kiss. +Then, as they fell back into their places, with a few inarticulate blessings +and assurances that they only wished they could go to Rome, or to Jerusalem, +if it would restore their king, Henry said, smiling, as he looked at +James, ‘Scotsmen here, there, and everywhere—in Heaven as +well as earth! What was it last night about a Scot that moved +thine ire, Jamie? Didst not tender me thy sword? By my faith, +thou hast it not! What was the rub?’</p> +<p>James now told the story in its fulness. How he had met Sir +Patrick Drummond at Glenuskie; how, afterwards, the knight had stood +by him in the encounter at Meaux; and how it had been impossible to +leave him senseless to the flames; and how he had trusted that a capture +made thus, accidentally, of a helpless man, would not fall under Henry’s +strict rules against accepting Scottish prisoners.</p> +<p>‘Hm!’ said Henry; ‘it must be as you will; only +I trust to you not to let him loose on us, either here or on the Border. +Take back your sword, Jamie. If I spoke over hotly last night—a +man hardly knows what he says when he has a goad in the side—you +forgive it, Jamie.’ And as the Scots king, with the dew in his +eyes, wrung his hand, he added anxiously, ‘Your sword! What, +not here! Here’s mine. Which is it?’ Then, +as James handed it to him: ‘Ay, I would fain you wore it! +’Tis the sword of my knighthood, when poor King Richard dubbed +me in Ireland; and many a brave scheme came with it!’</p> +<p>The soft movement of the barge upon the water had a soothing influence; +and he was certainly in a less suffering state, though silent and dreamy, +as he lay half raised on cushions under an awning, James anxiously watching +over him, and Malcolm with a few other attendants near at hand; stout +bargemen propelling the craft, and the guard keeping along the bank +of the river.</p> +<p>His thoughts were perhaps with the battle, for presently he looked +up, and murmured the verse:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘“I had a dream, a weary dream,<br /> + Ayont the Isle of Skye;<br /> +I saw a dead man win a fight,<br /> + And I think that man was I.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That stave keeps ringing in my brain; nor can I tell where or when +I have heard it.’</p> +<p>‘’Tis from the Scottish ballad that sings of the fight +of Otterburn,’ said James; ‘I brought it with me from Scotland.’</p> +<p>‘And got little thanks for your pains,’ said Henry, smiling. +‘But, methinks, since no Percy is in the way, I would hear it +again; there was true knighthood in the Douglas that died there.’</p> +<p>James’s harp was never far off; and again his mellow voice +went through that gallant and plaintive strain, though in a far more +subdued manner than the first time he had sung it; and Henry, weakened +and softened, actually dropped a brave man’s tear at the ‘bracken +bush upon the lily lea,’ and the hero who lay there.</p> +<p>‘That I should weep for a Douglas!’ he said, half laughing; +‘but the hearts of all honest men lie near together, on whatever +side they draw their swords. God have mercy on whosoever may fall +to-morrow! I trow, Jamie, thou couldst not sing that rough rhyme +of Agincourt. I was bashful and ungracious enough to loathe the +very sound of it when I came home in my pride of youth; but I would +lief hear it once more. Or, stay—Yorkshiremen always have +voices;’ and raising his tone, he unspeakably gratified Trenton +and Kitson by the request; and their voices, deep and powerful, and +not uncultivated, poured forth the Lay of Agincourt to the waves of +the French river, and to its mighty victor:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Our King went forth to Normandye.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Long and lengthily chanted was the triumphant song, with the Latin +choruses, which were echoed back by the escort on the bank; while Henry +lay, listening and musing; and Malcolm had time for many a thought and +impulse.</p> +<p>Patrick’s life was granted; although it had been promised too +late to send the intelligence back to the tent at Corbeil. So +far, the purpose of his vow to St. Andrew had been accomplished; but +with the probability that he should soon again be associated with Patrick, +came the sense of the failure in purpose and in promise. Patrick +would not reproach him, he well knew—nay, would rejoice in the +change; but even this certainty galled him, and made him dread his cousin’s +presence as likely to bring him a sense of shame. What would Patrick +think of his letting a lady be absolutely compelled to marry him? +Might he not say it was the part of Walter Stewart over again? +Indeed, Malcolm remembered how carefully King James was prevented from +hearing the means by which the Countess intended to make the lady his +own; and a sensation came over him, that it was profanation to call +on St. Andrew to bless what was to be brought about by such means. +Why was it that, as his eyes fell on the face of King Henry, the whole +world and all his projects acquired so different a colouring? and a +sentence he had once heard Esclairmonde quote would come to him constantly: +‘My son, think not to buy off God. It is thyself that He +requires, not thy gifts.’</p> +<p>But the long lay of victory was over; and King Henry had roused himself +to thank the singers, then sighed, and said, ‘How long ago that +was!’</p> +<p>‘Six years,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘The whole space from the hope and pride of youth to the care +and toil of eld,’ said Henry. ‘Your Scots made an +old man of me the day they slew Thomas.’</p> +<p>‘Yet that has been your sole mishap,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘Yea, truly! But thenceforth I have learnt that the road +to Jerusalem is not so straight and plain as I deemed it when I stood +victorious at Agincourt. The Church one again—the Holy Sepulchre +redeemed! It seemed then before my eyes, and that I was the man +called to do it.’</p> +<p>‘So it may be yet,’ said James. ‘Sickness +alters everything, and raises mountains before us.’</p> +<p>‘It may be so,’ said Henry; ‘and yet—Jerusalem! +Jerusalem! It was my father’s cry; it was King Edward’s +cry; it was St. Louis’ cry; and yet they never got there.’</p> +<p>‘St. Louis was far on his way,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘Ay! he never turned aside!’ said Henry, sighing, and +moving restlessly and wearily with something of returning fever.</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘O bona patria, lumina sobria te speculantur—”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Boy, are you there?’ as, in turning, his eye fell on Malcolm. +‘Take warning: the straight road is the best. You see, I +have never come to Jerusalem.’ Then again he murmured:</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Hic breve vivitur, hic breve plangitur, +hic breve fletur;<br /> +Non breve vivere, non breve plangere, retribuetur.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And James, seeing that nothing lulled him like song, offered to sing +that mysteriously beautiful rhythm of Bernard of Morlaix.</p> +<p>‘Ay, prithee do so,’ said Henry. ‘There’s +a rest there, when the Agincourt lay rings hollow. Well, there +is a Jerusalem where our shortcomings are made up; only the straight +way—the straight way.’</p> +<p>Malcolm took his part with James in singing the rhythm, which he +had learnt long ago at Coldingham, and which thus in every note brought +back the vanished aspirations and self-dedication to ‘the straight +way.’</p> +<p>For such, an original purpose of self-devotion must ever be—not +of course exclusively to the monastic life; but whoever lowers his aims +of serving God under any worldly inducement, is deviating from the straight +way: and, thought Malcolm, if King Harry feels Agincourt an empty word +beside the song of Sion, must not all I have sought for be a very vanity?</p> +<p>Sometimes dozing, but sometimes restless, and with the pain of breathing +constantly increasing on him, Henry wore through the greater part of +the day, upon the river, until it was necessary to land, and be taken +through the forest in his litter. He was now obliged to be lifted +from the barge; and his weariness rendered the conveyance very distressing, +save that his patient smile never faded; and still he said, ‘All +will be well when I come to my Kate!’</p> +<p>Alas! when the gates were reached, James hardly knew how to tell +him that the Queen had gone that morning to Paris with her mother. +Yet still he was cheerful. ‘If the physicians deal hard +with me,’ he said, ‘it will be well that she should not +be here till the worst is over.’</p> +<p>The physicians were there. A messenger had gone direct from +Corbeil to summon them; and Henry delivered himself up into their hands, +to fight out the battle with disease, as he had set himself to fight +out many another battle in his time.</p> +<p>A sharp conflict it was—between a keen and aggravated disease, +apparently pleurisy coming upon pulmonary affection of long standing, +and a strong and resolute nature, unquenched by suffering, and backed +by the violent remedies of a half-instructed period. Those who +watched him, and strove to fulfil the directions of the physicians, +hardly marked the lapse of hours; even though more than one day and +night had passed ere in the early twilight of a long summer’s +morn he sank into a sleep, his face still distressed, but less acutely, +and his breath heavy and labouring, though without the severe pain.</p> +<p>The watchers felt that here might be the turning point, and stood +or sat around, not daring to change their postures, or utter the slightest +word. Suddenly, James, who stood nearest, leaning against the +wall, with his eyes fixed on the face of the sleeper, was aware of a +hand on his shoulder, and looking round, saw in the now full light Bedford’s +face—so pale, haggard, and replete with anxiety, so dusty and +travel-stained, that Henry, awakening at that moment, exclaimed, ‘Ha, +John!’ And as his brother was slow to reply—‘Has +the day gone against thee? How was it? Never fear to speak, +brother; thou art safe; and I know thou hast done valiantly. Valour +is never lost, whether in defeat or success. Speak, John. +Take it not so much to heart.’</p> +<p>‘There has been no battle, Harry,’ said Bedford, gathering +voice with difficulty. ‘The Dauphin would not abide our +coming, but broke up his camp.’</p> +<p>‘Beshrew thee, man!’ said Henry; ‘but I thought +thou wast just off a flight!’</p> +<p>‘Dost think one can ride fast only for a flight?’ said +Bedford. ‘Ah, would that it had been the loss of ten battles +rather than this!’</p> +<p>And he fell on his knees, grasping Henry’s hand, and hiding +his face against the bed, with the same instinct of turning to him for +comfort with which the young motherless children of Henry of Bolingbroke, +when turned adrift among the rude Beaufort progeny of John of Gaunt, +had clung to their eldest brother, and found tenderness in his love +and protection in his fearlessness; so that few royal brethren ever +loved better than Henry and John of Lancaster.</p> +<p>‘It was well and kindly done, John,’ said Henry; ‘and +thou hast come at a good time; for, thanks be to God, the pain hath +left me; and if it were not for this burthen of heaviness and weariness, +I should be more at ease than I have been for many weeks.’</p> +<p>But as he spoke, there was that both in his face and voice that chilled +with a dread certainty the hearts of those who hung over him.</p> +<p>‘Is my wife come? I could see her now,’ he wistfully +asked.</p> +<p>Alas! no. Sir Lewis Robsart, the knight attached to her service, +faltered, with a certain shame and difficulty, that the Queen would +come when her orisons at Notre Dame were performed.</p> +<p>It was his last disappointment; but still he bore it cheerily.</p> +<p>‘Best,’ he said. ‘My fair one was not made +for sights like this; and were she here’—his lip trembled—‘I +might bear me less as a Christian man should. My sweet Catherine! +Take care of her, John; she will be the most desolate being in the world.’</p> +<p>John promised with all his heart; though pity for cold-hearted Catherine +was not the predominant feeling there.</p> +<p>‘I would I had seen my child’s face, and blessed him,’ +continued Henry. ‘Poor boy! I would have him Warwick’s +charge.’</p> +<p>‘Warwick is waiting admission,’ said Bedford. ‘He +and Salisbury and Exeter rode with me.’</p> +<p>The King’s face lighted up with joy as he heard this. +‘It is good for a man to have his friends about him,’ he +said; and as they entered he held out his hand to them and thanked them.</p> +<p>Then took place the well-known scene, when, looking back on his career, +he pronounced it to have been his endeavour to serve God and his people, +and declared himself ready to face death fearlessly, since such was +the will of his Maker: grieving only for the infancy of his son, but +placing his hope and comfort in his brother John, and commending the +babe to the fatherly charge of Warwick. ‘You cannot love +him for his own sake as yet; but if you think you owe me aught, repay +it to him.’ And as he thought over the fate of other infant +kings, he spoke of some having hated the father and loved the child, +others who had loved the father and hated the child.</p> +<p>To Humfrey of Gloucester he sent stringent warnings against giving +way to his hot and fiery nature, offending Burgundy, or rushing into +a doubtful wedlock with Jaqueline of Hainault; speaking of him with +an elder brother’s fatherly affection, but turning ever to John +of Bedford with full trust and reliance, as one like-minded, and able +to carry out all his intentions. For the French prisoners, they +might not be released, ‘lest more fire be kindled in one day than +can be quenched in three.’</p> +<p>‘And for you, Jamie,’ he said, affectionately holding +out his hand, ‘my friend, my brother-in-arms, I must say the same +as ever. Pardon me, Jamie; but I have not kept you out of malice, +such as man must needs renounce on his death-bed. I trust to John, +and to the rest, for giving you freedom at such time as you can safely +return to be such a king indeed as we have ever hoped to be. Do +you pardon me, James, for this, as for any harshness or rudeness you +may have suffered from me?’</p> +<p>James, with full heart, murmured out his ardent love, his sense that +no captive had ever been so generously treated as he.</p> +<p>‘And you, my young lord,’ said Henry, looking towards +Malcolm, whose light touch and tender hands had made him a welcome attendant +in the illness, ‘I have many a kind service to thank you for. +And I believe I mightily angered you once; but, boy, remember—ay, +and you too, Ralf Percy—that he is your friend who turns you back +from things sore to remember in a case like mine!’</p> +<p>After these, and other calm collected farewells, Henry required to +know from his physicians how long his time might yet be. There +was hesitation in answering, plainly as they saw that mortification +had set in.</p> +<p>‘What,’ he said, ‘do ye think I have faced death +so many times to fear it now?’</p> +<p>Then came the reply given by the weeping, kneeling physician: ‘Sir, +think of your soul, for, without a miracle, you cannot live two hours.’</p> +<p>The King beckoned his confessor, and his friends retired, to return +again to take their part in the last rites, the Viaticum and Unction.</p> +<p>Henry was collected, and alive to all that was passing, responding +duly, and evidently entering deeply into the devotions that were to +aid his spirit in that awful passage; his face gravely set, but firm +and fearless as ever. The ceremonial ended, he was still sensible, +though with little power of voice or motion left; but the tone, though +low, was steady as ever, when he asked for the Penitential Psalms. +Still they doubted whether he were following them, for his eyes closed, +and his lips ceased to move, until, as they chanted the revival note +of David’s mournful penance—‘O be favourable and gracious +unto Sion; build Thou the walls of Jerusalem;’—at that much-loved +word, the light of the blue eyes once more beamed out, and he spoke +again. ‘Jerusalem! On the faith of a dying king, it +was my earnest purpose to have composed matters here into peace and +union, and so to have delivered Jerusalem. But the will of God +be done, since He saw me unworthy.’</p> +<p>Then his eyes closed again; he slept, or seemed to sleep; and then +a strange quivering came over the face, the lips moved again, and the +words broke from them, ‘Thou liest, foul spirit! thou liest!’ +but, as though the parting soul had gained the victory in that conflict, +peace came down on the wasted features; and with the very words of his +Redeemer Himself, ‘Into Thy hands I commend my spirit,’ +he did indeed fall asleep; the mighty soul passed from the worn-out +frame.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII: THE RING AND THE EMPTY THRONE</h2> +<p>No one knows how great a tree has been till it has fallen; nor how +large a space a mighty man has occupied till he is removed.</p> +<p>King Henry V. left his friends and foes alike almost dizzy, as in +place of his grand figure they found a blank; instead of the hand whose +force they had constantly felt, mere emptiness.</p> +<p>Malcolm of Glenuskie, who had been asserting constantly that King +Henry was no master of his, and had no rights over him, had nevertheless, +for the last year or more, been among those to whom the King’s +will was the moving spring, fixing the disposal of almost every hour, +and making everything dependent thereon.</p> +<p>When the death-hush was broken by the ‘Depart, O Christian +soul,’ and Bedford, with a face white and set like a statue, stood +up from his knees, and crossed and kissed the still white brow, it was +to Malcolm as if the whole universe had become as nothing. To +him there remained only the great God, the heavenly Jerusalem into which +the King had entered, and himself far off from the straight way, wandering +from his promise and his purpose into what seemed to him a mere hollow +painted scene, such as came and went in the midst of a banquet. +Or, again, it was the grisly Dance of Death that was the only reality; +Death had clutched the mightiest in the ring. Whom would he clutch +next?</p> +<p>He stood motionless, as one in a dream, or rather as if not knowing +which was reality, and which phantom; gazing, gazing on at the bed where +the King lay, round which the ecclesiastics were busying themselves, +unperceiving that James, Bedford, and the nobles had quitted the apartment, +till Percy first spoke to him in a whisper, then almost shook him, and +led him out of the room. ‘I am sent for you,’ he said, +in a much shaken voice; ‘your king says you can be of use.’ +Then tightening his grasp with the force of intense grief, ‘Oh, +what a day! what a day! My father! my father! I never knew +mine own father! But he has been all to Harry and to me! +Oh, woe worth the day!’ And dropping into a window-seat, +he covered his face with his hands, and gave way to his grief: pointing, +however, to the council-room, where Malcolm found Bedford writing at +the table, King James, and a few others, engaged in the same manner.</p> +<p>A few words from James informed him (or would have done so if he +could have understood) that the Duke of Bedford, on whom at that terrible +moment the weight of two kingdoms and of the war had descended, could +not pause to rest, or to grieve, till letters and orders had been sent +to the council in England, and to every garrison, every ally in France, +to guard against any sudden panic, or faltering in friendship to England +and her infant heir. Warwick and Salisbury were already riding +post haste to take charge of the army; Robsart was gone to the Queen, +Exeter to the Duke of Burgundy; and as the clergy were all engaged with +the tendance of the royal corpse, there was scarcely any one to lessen +the Duke’s toil. James, knowing Malcolm’s pen to be +ready, had sent for him to assist in copying the brief scrolls, addressed +to each captain of a fortress or town, announcing the father’s +death, and commanding him to do his duty to the son—King Harry +VI. Each was then to be signed by the Duke, and despatched by +men-at-arms, who waited for the purpose.</p> +<p>Like men stunned, the half-dozen who sat at the council-table worked +on, never daring to glance at the empty chair at the upper end. +The only words that passed were occasional inquiries of, and orders +from, Bedford; and these he spoke with a strange alertness and metallic +ring in his voice, as though the words were uttered by mechanism; yet +in themselves they were as clear and judicious as possible, as if coming +from a mind wound up exclusively to the one necessary object; and the +face—though flushed at first, and gradually growing paler, with +knitted brows and compressed lips—betrayed no sign of emotion.</p> +<p>Hours passed: he wrote, he ordered, he signed, he sealed; he mentioned +name after name, of place and officer, never moving or looking up. +And James, who knew from Salisbury that he had neither slept nor eaten +since sixty miles off he had met a worse report of his brother, watched +him anxiously till, when evening began to fall, he murmured, ‘There +is the captain of—of—at—but—’—the +pen slipped from his fingers, and he said, ‘I can no more!’</p> +<p>The overtaxed powers, strained so long—mind, memory, and all—were +giving way under the mere force of excessive fatigue. He rose +from his seat, but stumbled, like one blind, as James upheld him, and +led him away to the nearest bed-chamber, where, almost while the attendants +divested him of the heavy boots and cuirass he had never paused all +these hours to remove, he dropped into a sleep of sheer exhaustion.</p> +<p>James, who was likewise wearied out with watching, turned towards +his own quarters; but, in so doing, he could not but turn aside to the +chapel, where before the altar had been laid all that was left of King +Henry. There he lay, his hands clasped over a crucifix, clad in +the same rich green and crimson robes in which he had ridden to meet +his Queen at Vincennes but three short months before; the golden circlet +from his helmet was on his head, but it could not give additional majesty +to the still and severe sweetness of his grand and pure countenance, +so youthful in the lofty power that high aspirations had imprinted on +it, yet so intensely calm in its marble rest, more than ever with the +look of the avenging unpitying angel. To James, it was chiefly +the face of the man whom he had best loved and admired, in spite of +their strange connection; but to Malcolm, who had as usual followed +him closely, it was verily a look from the invisible world—a look +of awful warning and reproof, almost as if the pale set lips were unclosing +to demand of him where he was in the valley of shadows, through which +the way lay to Jerusalem. If Henry had turned back, and warned +him at the gate of the heavenly Sion, surely such would have been his +countenance; and Malcolm, when, like James, he had sprinkled the holy +water on the white brow, and crossed himself while the low chant of +Psalms from kneeling priests went up around him—clasped his two +hands close together, and breathed forth the words, ‘Oh, I have +wandered far! O great King, I will never leave the straight way +again! I will cast aside all worldly aims! O God, and the +Saints, help me not to lose my way again!’</p> +<p>He would have tarried on still, in the fascination of that wonderful +unearthly countenance, and in the inertness of faculties stunned by +fatigue and excitement, but James summoned him by a touch, and he again +followed him.</p> +<p>‘O Sir!’ he began, when they had turned away, ‘I +repent me of my falling away to the world! I give all up. +Let me back to my vows of old.’</p> +<p>‘We will talk of that another time,’ said James, gravely. +‘Neither you nor I, Malcolm, can think reasonably under such a +blow as this; and I forbid you rashly to bind yourself.’</p> +<p>‘Sir, Sir!’ cried Malcolm, petulantly. ‘You +took me from the straight way. You shall not hinder my return!’</p> +<p>‘I hinder no true purpose,’ said King James. ‘I +only hinder another rash and hasty pledge, to be felt as a fetter, or +left broken on your conscience. Silence now. When men are +sad and spent they cannot speak as befits them, and had best hold their +peace.’</p> +<p>These words were spoken on the way up the stair that led to the apartments +of the King of Scots. On opening the door of the larger room, +the first thing they saw was the tall figure of a distinguished-looking +knight, who, as they entered, flung himself at King James’s feet, +fervently exclaiming, ‘O my liege! accept my homage! Never +was vassal so bound to his lord by thankfulness for his life, and for +far more than his life!’</p> +<p>‘Sir Patrick Drummond, I am glad to see you better at ease,’ +said James. ‘Nay, suffer me,’ he added, giving his +hand to raise the knight, but finding it grasped and kissed with passionate +devotion, almost overpowering the only half-recovered knight, so that +James was forced to use strength to support him, and would at once have +lifted him up, but the warm-hearted Patrick resisted, almost sobbing +out—‘Nay, Sir! king of my heart indeed! let me first thank +you. I knew not how much more I owed you than the poor life you +saved—my father’s rescue, and that of all that was most +dear.’</p> +<p>‘Speak of such things seated, my good friend,’ said James, +trying to raise him; but Drummond still did not second his efforts.</p> +<p>‘I have not given my parole of honour as the captive whose +life is again due to you.’</p> +<p>‘You must give that to the Duke of Bedford, Sir Patrick,’ +said James. ‘I know not if I am to be put into ward myself. +In any case you are safe, by the good King’s grace, so you pledge +yourself to draw no sword against England in Scotland or France till +ransom be accepted for you.’</p> +<p>‘Alack!’ said Patrick, ‘I have neither sword nor +ransom. I would I knew what was to be done with the life you have +given me, my lord.’</p> +<p>‘I will find a use for it, never fear,’ said James, sadly, +but kindly. ‘Be my knight for the present, till better days +come for us both.’</p> +<p>‘With my whole heart!’ said Patrick, fervently. +‘Yours am I for ever, my liege.’</p> +<p>‘Then my first command is that you should rise, and rest,’ +said James, assisting the knight to regain his feet, and placing him +in the only chair in the room. ‘You must become a whole +man as soon as may be.’</p> +<p>For Patrick’s arm was in a sling, and evidently still painful +and useless, and he sank back, breathless and unresisting, like one +who had by no means regained perfect health, while his handsome features +looked worn and pale. ‘I fear me,’ said James, as +the two cousins silently shook hands, ‘that you have moved over +soon.—You surely had my message, Bairdsbrae?’</p> +<p>‘Oh yes, my lord,’ replied Baird; ‘but the lad +was the harder to hold; and after the fever was gone, we deemed he could +well brook the journey by water. ’Twas time I was here to +guide ye too, my lord; you and the callant baith look sair forfaughten.’</p> +<p>‘We have had a sad time of it, Nigel,’ said James, with +trembling lip.</p> +<p>‘And if Brewster tells me right, ye’ve not tasted food +the whole day?’ said Nigel, laying an authoritative hand on his +royal pupil. ‘Nay, sit ye down; here come the varlets with +the meal I bade them have ready.’</p> +<p>James passively yielded, courteously signing to the others to share +the food that was spread on a table; and with the same scarcely conscious +grace, making inquiries, which elicited that Patrick Drummond’s +hurts had been caused by his horse falling and rolling over with him, +whilst with Sir John Swinton and other Scottish knights he was reconnoitring +the line of the English march. He was too much injured to be taken +back to the far distant camp, and had accordingly been intrusted to +the French farmer, with no attendant but a young French horse-boy, since +he was too poor to keep a squire. He knew nothing more, for fever +had run high; and he had not even been sensible of his desertion by +his French hosts on the approach of the English, far less of the fire, +and of his rescue by the King and Malcolm; but for this he seemed inclined +to compensate to the utmost, by the intense eagerness of devotion with +which he regarded James, who sat meanwhile crushed down by the weight +of his own grief.</p> +<p>‘I can eat no more, Baird,’ said he, swallowing down +a draught of wine, and pushing aside his trencher. ‘Your +license, gentlemen. I must be alone. Take care of the lads, +Nigel. Malcolm is spent too. His deft service was welcome +to—to my dearest brother.’</p> +<p>And though he hastily shut himself into his own inner chamber, it +was not till they had seen that his grief was becoming uncontrollable.</p> +<p>Patrick could not but murmur, ‘Dearest brother!’</p> +<p>‘Ay, like brothers they loved!’ said Baird, gravely.</p> +<p>‘A strange brotherhood,’ began Drummond.</p> +<p>But Malcolm cried, with much agitation, ‘Not a word, Patie! +You know not what you say. Take heed of profaning the name of +one who is gone to the Sion above.’</p> +<p>‘You turned English, our wee Malcolm!’ exclaimed Drummond, +in amaze.</p> +<p>‘There is no English, French, or Scot where he is gone!’ +cried Malcolm. ‘No Babel! O Patie, I have been far +fallen! I have done you in heart a grievous wrong! but if I have +turned back in time, it is his doing that lies there.’</p> +<p>‘His! what, Harry of Lancaster’s?’ demanded the +bewildered Patrick. ‘What had he to do with you?’</p> +<p>‘He has been my only true friend here!’ cried Malcolm. +‘Oh, if my hand be free from actual spoil and bloodshed, it was +his doing! Oh, that he could hear me bless him for the chastisement +I took so bitterly!’</p> +<p>‘Chastisement!’ demanded Patrick. ‘The English +King dared chastise <i>you</i>! of Scots blood royal! ’Tis +well he is dead!’</p> +<p>‘The laddie’s well-nigh beside himself!’ said Baird. +‘But he speaks true. This king whom Heaven assolizie, kept +a tight hand over the youngsters; and falling on Lord Malcolm and some +other callants making free with a house at Meaux, dealt some blows, +of which my young lord found it hard to stomach his share; though I +am glad to see he is come to a better mind. Ay, ’tis pity +of this King Harry! Brave and leal was he; never spake an untrue +word; never turned eye for fear, nor foot for weariness, nor hand for +toil, nor nose for ill savour. A man, look you, to be trusted; +never failing his word for good or ill! Right little love has +there been between him and me; but I could weep like my own lad in there, +to think I shall never see that knightly presence more, nor hear those +frank gladsome voices of the boys, as they used to shout up and down +Windsor Forest.’</p> +<p>‘You too, Sir Nigel! and with a king like ours!’</p> +<p>‘Ay, Sir Patrick! and if he be such a king as Scotland never +had since St. David, and maybe not then, I’m free to own as much +of it is due to King Harry as to his own noble self.—Did ye say +they had streekit him in the chapel, Lord Malcolm? I’d fain +look on the bonnie face of him; I’ll ne’er look on his like +again.’</p> +<p>No sooner had old Bairdsbrae gone, than Malcolm flung himself down +before his cousin, crying, ‘Oh, Patrick, you will hear me! +I cannot rest till you know how changed I have been.’</p> +<p>‘Changed!’ said Patrick; ‘ay, and for the better! +Why, Malcolm, I never durst hope to see you so sturdy and so heartsome. +My father would have been blithe to see you such a gallant young squire. +Even the halt is gone!’</p> +<p>‘Nearly,’ said Malcolm. ‘But I would fain +be puny and puling, to have the clear heart that once I had. Oh, +hear me! hear me! and pardon me, Patie!’</p> +<p>And Malcolm, in his agitation, poured forth the whole story of his +having shifted from his old cherished purpose of devoting himself to +the service of Heaven, and leaving lands and vassals to the stronger +hands of Patrick and Lilias; how, having thus given himself to the world, +he had fallen into temptation; how he had let himself be led to persecute +with his suit a noble lady, vowed like himself; how he had almost agreed +to marry her by force: and how he had been running into the ordinary +dissipations of the camp, abstaining from confession, avoiding mass; +disobeying orders, plunging into scenes of plunder, till he had almost +been the death of Patrick, whom he had already so cruelly wronged.</p> +<p>So felt the boy. Fresh from that death-bed, the evils his conscience +had protested against from the first appeared to him frightfully heinous, +and his anguish of self-reproach was such, that Patrick listened in +the greatest anxiety lest he should hear of some deadly stain on his +young kinsman’s scutcheon; but when the tale was told, and he +had demanded ‘Is that all?’ and found that no further overt +act was alleged against Malcolm, he breathed a long sigh, and muttered, +‘You daft laddie! you had fairly startled me! So this is +the coil, is it? Who ever told you to put on a cowl, I should +like to know? Why, ’twas what my poor father ever declared +against. I take your lands! By my troth! ‘twould be +enough to make me break faith with your sister, if I <i>could</i>!’</p> +<p>‘The vow was in my heart,’ faltered Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘In a fule’s head!’ said Patrick. ‘What +right have babes to be talking of vows? ‘Twould be the best +tidings I’ve heard for many a long day, that you were wedded to +a lass with a good tocher, and fit to guide your silly pate. What’s +that? Her vows! If they are no better than yours, the sooner +they are forgot the better. If she had another love, ‘twould +be another matter, but with a bishop on your side, you’ve naught +to fear.’</p> +<p>Malcolm turned away, sick at heart. To him his present position +had become absolute terror. His own words had worked him up to +an alarming sense of having lapsed from high aims to mere selfishness; +of having profaned vows, consented to violence, and fallen away from +grace; and he was in an almost feverish passion to utter something that +would irrevocably bind him to his former intentions; but here were the +King and Patrick both conspiring to silence him, and hold him back to +his fallen and perilous state. Nay, Patrick even derided his penitence. +Patrick was an honourable knight, a religious man, as times went, but +he had been brought up in a much rougher and more unscrupulous school +than Malcolm, and had been hardened by years of service as a soldier +of fortune. The Armagnac camp was not like that of England. +Warriors of such piety and strictness as Henry and Bedford had never +come within his ken; and that any man, professing to be a soldier, should +hesitate at the license of war, was incomprehensible to him. The +discipline of Henry’s army had been scoffed at in the French camp, +and every infraction of it hailed as a token of hypocrisy; and to the +stout Scot Malcolm’s grief for the rapine at Meaux, which after +all he had not committed, seemed a simple absurdity. Even his +own danger, on the second occasion, did not make him alter his opinion; +it was all the fortune of war. And he was not sure that he had +not best have been stifled at once, since his hands were tied from warfare. +And as for Lily—how was he to win her now? Then, as Malcolm +opened his mouth, Patrick sharply charged him to hold his tongue as +to that folly, unless he wanted to drive him to make a vow on his side, +that he would turn Knight of Rhodes, and never wed.</p> +<p>Malcolm, wearied out with excitement, came at last to weeping that +no one would hear or understand him; but the scene was ended by Bairdsbrae, +who, returning, brought a leech with him, who at once took the command +of Patrick, and ordered him to his bed.</p> +<p>Malcolm could not rest. He was feverish with the shock of grief +and awe, and absorbed in the thought which had mastered him, and which +was much dwelt on in the middle ages:—the monastic path, going +towards heaven straight as a sunbeam; the secular, twining its way through +a tortuous difficult course—the ‘broad way,’ tending +downward to the abyss. To his terrified apprehension, he had abandoned +the direct and narrow path for the fatal road, and there might at any +moment be captured, and whirled away by the grisly phantom Death, who +had just snatched the mightiest in his inevitable clutch; and with something +of the timidity of his nature, he was in absolute terror, until he should +be able to set himself back on the shining road from which he had swerved, +and be rid of the load of transgression which seemed ready to sink him +into the gulf.</p> +<p>Those few and perfunctory confessions to a courtly priest who knew +nothing about him, and was sure not to be hard on a king’s cousin, +now seemed to add to his guilt: and, wandering down-stairs towards the +chapel, he met a train of ecclesiastics slowly leaving it, having just +been relieved by a bevy of monks from a neighbouring convent, who took +up the chants where they had left them.</p> +<p>Looking up at them, he recognized Dr. Bennet’s bent head, and +throwing himself before him on his knee, he gasped, ‘O father, +father! hear me! Take me back! Give me hope!’</p> +<p>‘What means this, my young lord?’ said Dr. Bennet, pausing, +while his brethren passed on. ‘Are you sick?’ he added, +kindly, seeing the whiteness of Malcolm’s face, and his startled +eye.</p> +<p>‘Oh, no, no! only sick at heart at my own madness, and the +doom on it! O Sir, hear me! Take my vow again! give me absolution +once more to a true shrift. Oh, if you will hear me, it shall +be honest this time! Only put me in the way again.’</p> +<p>The chaplain was sorely sad and weary. He it was whose ministrations +had chiefly comforted the dying King. To him it had been the loss +of a deeply-loved son and pupil, as well as of almost unbounded hopes +for the welfare of the Church; and he had had likewise, in the freshness +of his sorrow, to take the lead in the ecclesiastical ceremonies that +ensued, so that both in body and mind he was well-nigh worn out, and +longed for peace in which to face his own private sorrow; but the wild +words and anguished looks of the young Scot showed him that his case +was one for immediate hearing, and he drew the lad into the confessional, +authoritatively calmed his agitation, and prepared to hear the outpouring +of the boy’s self-reproach.</p> +<p>He heard it all—sifting facts from fancies, and learning the +early purpose, the terror at the cruel world, the longing for peace +and shelter; the desire to smooth his sister’s way, which had +led him to devote himself in heart to the cloister, though never permitted +openly to pledge himself. Then the discovery that the world was +less thorny than he had expected; the allurement of royal favour and +greatness; the charm of amusement, and activity in recovered health; +the cowardly dread of scorn, leading him not merely into the secular +life, but into the gradual dropping of piety and devotion; the actual +share he had taken in forbidden diversions; his attempts at plunder; +his ill-will to King Henry; and, above all, his persecution of Esclairmonde, +which he now regarded as sacrilegious; and he even told how he lay under +a half engagement to Countess Jaqueline to return alone to the Court, +and bear his part in the forcible marriage she projected.</p> +<p>He told all, with no extenuation; nay, rather with such outbursts +of opprobrium on himself, that Dr. Bennet could hardly understand of +what positive evils he had been guilty; and he ended by entreating that +the almoner would at once hear his vow to become a Benedictine monk, +ere—</p> +<p>But Dr. Bennet would not listen. He silenced the boy by saying +he had no more right to hear it than Malcolm as yet to make it. +Nay, that inner dedication, for which Malcolm yearned as a sacred bond +to his own will, the priest forbade. It was no moment to make +such a promise in his present mood, when he did not know himself. +If broken, he would only be adding sin to sin; nor was Malcolm, with +all his errors fresh upon him, in any state to dedicate himself worthily. +The errors—which in Ralf Percy, or in most other youths, might +have seemed slight—were heavy stains on one who, like Malcolm, +had erred, not thoughtlessly, but with a conscience of them all, in +wilful abandonment of his higher principles. On these the chaplain +mostly dwelt; on these he tried to direct Malcolm’s repentance; +and, finding that the youth was in perpetual extremes of remorse, and +that his abject submission was a sort of fresh form of wilfulness, almost +passion at being forbidden to bind himself by the vow, he told him that +the true token of repentance was steadiness and constancy; and that +therefore his absolution must be deferred until he had thus shown that +his penitence was true and sincere—by perseverance, firstly, in +the devotions that the chaplain appointed for him, and, secondly, in +meeting whatever temptations might be in store for him. Nay, the +cruel chaplain absolutely forbade the white, excited, eager boy to spend +half the night in chapel over the first division of these penitential +psalms and prayers, but on his obedience sent him at once to his bed.</p> +<p>Malcolm could have torn his hair. Unabsolved! Still under +the weight of sin; still unpledged; still on dangerous ground; still +left to a secular life—and that without Esclairmonde! Why +had he not gone to a French Benedictine, who would have caught at his +vow, and crowned his penitence with some magnificent satisfying asceticism?</p> +<p>Yet something in his heart, something in the father’s own authority, +made him submit; and in a tumult of feeling, more wretched even than +before his confession, he threw himself on his bed, expecting to charge +the tossings of a miserable night on Dr. Bennet, and to creep down barefoot +to the chapel in the early morning to begin his <i>Misereres</i>.</p> +<p>Instead of which, his first wakening was in broad daylight, by King +James standing over him. ‘Malcolm,’ he said, ‘I +have answered for you that you are discreet and trusty. A message +of weight is to be placed in your hands. Come with me to the Duke +of Bedford.’</p> +<p>Malcolm could only dress himself, and obediently follow to the chamber, +where sat the Duke, his whole countenance looking as if the light of +his life had gone out, but still steadfastly set to bear the heavy burden +that had been placed on his shoulders.</p> +<p>He called Malcolm to him, and showed him a ring, asking whether he +knew it.</p> +<p>‘The King’s signet—King Harry’s,’ said +Malcolm.</p> +<p>He was then reminded how, in the winter, Henry had lost the ring, +and after having caused another to be made at Paris, had found it in +the finger of his gauntlet. Very few knew of the existence of +this duplicate. Bedford himself was not aware of it till it had +been mentioned by James and Lord Fitzhugh the chamberlain; and then +search was made for it, without effect, so that it evidently had been +left with the Queen. These private signets were of the utmost +importance, far more so than even the autograph; for, though signatures +were just acquiring individuality enough to become the best authentication, +yet up to this very reign the seal was the only valid affirmation. +Such signets were always destroyed on a prince’s death, and it +was of the utmost importance that the duplicate should not be left in +Queen Catherine’s hands—above all, while she was with her +mother and her party, who were quite capable of affixing it to forgeries.</p> +<p>Bedford, James, and Fitzhugh were all required at Vincennes; the +two latter at the lying-in-state in the chapel. Most of the other +trusty nobles had repaired to the army; and, indeed, Bedford, aware +of the terrible jealousies that were sure to break out in the headless +realm, did not choose to place a charge that might hereafter prove invidious +in the hands of any Englishman, or to extend the secret any further +than could be helped; since who could tell what suspicion might not +be thus cast on any paper sealed by Henry?</p> +<p>In his perplexity, James had suggested young Malcolm, who had assisted +in the search for the lost ring, and been witness to its discovery; +and whom he could easily send as bearer of his condolences to the widowed +Queen; who had indeed the <i>entrée</i> of the palace, but had +no political standing, was neither French nor English, and had shown +himself discreet enough with other secrets to deserve confidence.</p> +<p>Bedford caught at the proposal. And Malcolm now received orders +to take horse, with a sufficient escort, and hasten at once to Paris, +where he should try if possible to obtain the ring from the Queen herself; +but if he could not speak to her in private, he might apply to Sir Lewis +Robsart. No other person was to be informed of the real object +of the mission, and he was to get back to Vincennes as soon as possible.</p> +<p>Neither prince could understand the scared, distressed looks with +which Malcolm listened to commands showing so much confidence in a youth +of his years. They encouraged him by assurances that Sir Lewis +Robsart, who had a curious kind of authority, half fatherly, half nurselike, +over the Queen, would manage all for him. And King James, provoked +by his reluctance, began, as they left Bedford’s chamber, to chide +him for ungraciousness in the time of distress, and insensibility to +the honour conferred on him.</p> +<p>‘Nay, nay,’ disclaimed Malcolm, almost ready to weep, +‘but I have a whole world of penance!’</p> +<p>‘Penance! Plague on the boy’s perverseness! +What penance is so good as obedience?’ said James, much displeased.</p> +<p>‘Sir, Sir,’ panted Malcolm, ‘’tis not only +that. Could any one but be sent in my stead? My returning +alone is what Madame of Hainault bade—for—for some scheme +on—’</p> +<p>His voice was choked, and his face was burning.</p> +<p>‘Is the lad gone daft?’ cried James, in great anger. +‘If Madame of Hainault were so lost to decorum as to hatch such +schemes at such a moment, I trow you are neither puppet nor fool in +her hands for her to do what she will with. I’ll have no +more fooling!’</p> +<p>Malcolm could only obey.</p> +<p>In the brief space while the horses were preparing, and he had to +equip and take food, he sped in search of Dr. Bennet, hoping, he knew +not what, from his interference, or trusting, at any rate, to explain +his own sudden absence.</p> +<p>But, looking into the chapel, he recognized the chaplain as one of +the leading priests in one of the lengthiest of masses, which was just +commencing. It was impossible to wait for the conclusion. +He could but kneel down, find himself too much hurried and confused +to recollect any prayer, then dash back again to don his riding-gear, +before King James should miss him, and be angered again.</p> +<p>‘Unabsolved—unvowed!’ he thought. ‘Sent +off thither against my will. Whatever may fall out, it is no fault +of mine!’</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV: THE TROTH FLIGHT</h2> +<p>Trembling and awed, the ladies waited at Paris. It was well +known how the King’s illness must end. No one, save the +Queen, professed to entertain any hope of his amendment; but Catherine +appeared to be too lethargic to allow herself to be roused to any understanding +of his danger; and as to the personal womanly tendance of wife to suffering +husband, she seemed to have no notion of it. Her mother had never +been supposed to take the slightest care of King Charles; and Catherine, +after her example, regarded the care either of husband or child as no +more required of a royal lady than of a queen bee.</p> +<p>The little Lady Montagu, as Alice was now to be called, who had been +scheming that her Richard should be wounded just enough to learn to +call her his good little nurse-tender, was dreadfully scandalized, as +indeed were wives of more experience, when they found all their endeavours +to make their mistress understand how ill the King really was, and how +much he wished for her, fall upon uncomprehending ears, and at last +were desired by her mother Isabeau not to torment the poor Queen, or +they would make her ill.</p> +<p>‘Make her ill! I wish I could!’ muttered Lady Warwick, +as she left the presence-chamber; ‘but it is like my little Nan +telling her apple-stock baby that all her kin were burnt alive in one +castle. She heeds as much!’</p> +<p>But when at late evening Sir Lewis Robsart rode up to the hotel, +and a hush went along with him, for all knew that he would never have +left his King alive, Catherine’s composure gave way. She +had not imagination enough for apprehension of what was out of sight; +but when she knew that she had lost her king, to whom she had owed the +brief splendour of an otherwise dreary and neglected life, she fell +into a passion of cries and tears, even at the mere sight of Sir Lewis, +and continued to bewail her king, her lord, her husband, her light, +her love, with the violence of an utterly unexpected bereavement.</p> +<p>But while her shrieks and sobs were rending the air, a hoarse voice +gasped out, ‘What say you? My son Henri dead!’ and +white and ghastly, the gray hair hanging wildly from the temples, the +eyes roaming with the wistful gaze of the half insane, poor King Charles +stood among them, demanding, ‘Tell me I am sick again! Tell +me it is but one of my delusions! So brave, so strong, so lively, +so good to the poor old man! My son Henri cannot die! That +is for the old, the sick!’</p> +<p>And when Sir Lewis with gentle words had made him understand the +truth, he covered his face with his hands, and staggered away, led by +his attendant knight, still murmuring in a dazed way, ‘<i>Mon +fils Henri, mon bon fils Henri</i>—most loving of all my children!’</p> +<p>In truth, neither of his own sons had been thus mourned; nor had +any person shown the poor crazed monarch the uniform deferential consideration +he had received from Henry. He crept back to his own chamber, +and for many days hardly spoke, save to moan for his <i>bon fils Henri</i>, +scarcely tasting food, and pining away day by day. Those who had +watched the likeness between the heroes of Monmouth and of Macedon, +saw the resemblance carried out; for as the aged Persian queen perished +away from grief for the courteous and gentle Alexander, so now the king +of the conquered realm was actually wasting to death with mourning for +his frank and kindly <i>bon fils Henri</i>.</p> +<p>As part of royal etiquette, Catherine betook herself to her bed, +in a chamber hung with black, the light of day excluded, and ranks of +wax tapers shedding a lugubrious light upon rows of gentlemen and ladies +who had to stand there on duty, watching her as the mourners watched +the King, though her lying-in-state was not always as silent; for though, +there was much time spent in slumber, Catherine sometimes would indulge +in a good deal of subdued prattle with her mother, or her more confidential +attendants. But at other times, chiefly when first awaking, or +else when anything had crossed her will, she would fall into agonies +of passionate grief—weeping, shrieking, and rending her hair with +almost a frenzy of misery, as she called herself utterly desolate, and +screamed aloud for her king to return to her.</p> +<p>She was quite past the management of her English ladies on these +occasions; and her mother, declaring that she was becoming crazed like +her father, declined having anything to do with her. Even Sir +Lewis Robsart she used to spurn aside; and nothing ever seemed effectual, +but for the Demoiselle de Luxemburg, with her full sweet voice, and +force of will in all the tenderness of strength, caressingly to hold +her still, talk to her almost as to an infant, and sing away her violence +with some long low ditty—sometimes a mere Flemish lullaby, sometimes +a Church hymn. As Lady Warwick said, when the ladies were all +wearied out with the endeavour to control their Queen’s waywardness +and violence, and it sighed away like a departing tempest before Esclairmonde, +‘It was as great a charity as ever ministering as a St. Katherine’s +bedeswoman could be.’</p> +<p>To the young Lady Montagu, the blow was astounding. It was +the first realization that a great man could die, a great support be +taken away; and, child-like, she moved about, bewildered and stunned, +in the great household on which the dark cloud had descended—clinging +to Esclairmonde as if to protect her from she knew not what; anything +dreadful might happen, with the King dead, and her father and husband +away.</p> +<p>Alas! poor Esclairmonde! She was in much more real danger herself, +as came to the bride’s mind presently, when, in the midst of her +lamentations, she exclaimed, ‘And, ah, Clairette! there ends his +goodly promise about the sisterhood of good works at Paris.’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde responded with a gesture of sorrow, and the murmur of +the ‘<i>In principibus non confide</i>’ that is so often +the echo of disappointment.</p> +<p>‘And what will you do?’ continued Alice, watching her +anxiously, as her face, turning very pale, was nevertheless uplifted +towards heaven.</p> +<p>‘Strive to trust more in God, less in princes,’ she breathed +forth, clasping her hands, and compressing her lips.</p> +<p>‘Nay, but does it grieve you so intensely?’ asked Alice. +‘Mayhap—’</p> +<p>‘Alas! sweet one! I would that the fall of this device +seemed like to be the worst effect to me of your good king’s death. +Pray for me, Alice, for now no earthly power stands between me and my +kinsmen’s will.’</p> +<p>Alice cried aloud, ‘Nay, nay, lady, we are English still. +There are my father; my lord, the Duke of Bedford; they will not suffer +any wrong to be done.’</p> +<p>‘Hush, Alice. None of them hath any power to aid me. +Even good King Henry had no legal power to protect me; only he was so +great, so strong in word or deed, that no man durst do before him what +he declared a shame and a sin. Now it will be expedient more than +ever that nothing be done by the English to risk offending the Duke +of Burgundy. None will dare withhold me; none ought to dare, for +they act not for themselves, but for their infant charge; and my countess +is weary of me. There is nothing to prevent my uncles from taking +me away with them; or—’</p> +<p>‘Nothing!’ cried Alice. ‘It cannot be! +Oh, that my father were here!’</p> +<p>‘He could do nothing for me.’</p> +<p>‘A convent!’</p> +<p>‘No convent here could keep me against the Bishop of Thérouenne.’</p> +<p>Alice wrung her hands. ‘Oh, it cannot—shall not +be!’</p> +<p>‘No, Alice, I do not believe it will be. I have that +confidence in Him to whom I have given myself, that I do not believe +He will permit me to be snatched from Him, so long as my will does not +consent.’ Esclairmonde faltered a moment, as she remembered +her wavering, crossed her hands on her breast, and ejaculated, ‘May +He deal mercifully with me! Yet it may be at an exceeding cost—at +that of all my cherished schemes, of all that was pride and self-seeking. +Alice, look not so terrified. Nothing can be done immediately, +or with violence, in this first mourning for the King; and I trust to +make use of the time to disguise me, and escape to England, where I +may keep my vow as anchoress, or as lay sister. Let me keep that, +and my self-exalting schemes shall be all put by!’</p> +<p>The question whether this should be to England, or to the southern +parts of France held by the Armagnacs, remained for decision, as opportunity +should direct: Alice constantly urging her own scheme of carrying her +friend with her as her tire-woman, if, as seemed likely, she were sent +home; and Esclairmonde refusing to consent to anything that might bring +the bride into troubles with her father and husband; and the debates +being only interrupted when the Lady Montagu was required to take her +turn among the weary ladies-in-waiting around Catherine’s state +bed.</p> +<p>Whenever she was not required to control, console, or persuade the +Queen, Esclairmonde spent most of her time in a chamber apart from the +chatter of Jaqueline’s little court, where she was weaving, in +the delicate point-lace work she had learnt in her Flemish convent, +an exquisite robe, such as were worn by priests at Mass. She seldom +worked, save for the poor; but she longed to do some honour to the one +man who would have promoted her nearly vanished scheme, and this work +she trusted to offer for a vestment to be used at his burial Mass. +Many a cherished plan was resigned, many an act of self-negation uttered, +as she bent over the dainty web; many an entreaty breathed, that her +moment’s wandering of fancy might not be reckoned against her, +but that she might be aided to keep the promise of her infancy, and +devote herself undivided to the direct service of God and of His poor, +be it in ever so humble a station.</p> +<p>Here she sat alone, when steps approached, the door opened, and of +all people he stood before her whom she least wished to see, the young +Lord of Glenuskie.</p> +<p>Amazed as she was, she betrayed no confusion, and merely rose, saying +quietly, ‘This is an error. I will show you Madame’s +apartment.’</p> +<p>But Malcolm, who had begun by looking far more confused than she, +cried earnestly, ‘One moment, lady. I came not willingly; +the Countess sent for me to her. But since I am here—listen +while Heaven gives me strength to say it—I will trouble you never +again. I am come to a better mind. Oh, forgive me!’</p> +<p>‘What are you here then for, Sir?’ said Esclairmonde, +with the same defensive dignity.</p> +<p>‘My king sent me, against my will, on a mission to the Queen,’ +panted Malcolm. ‘I am forced to wait here; or, lady, I should +have been this day doing penance for my pursuit of you. Verily +I am a penitent. Mayhap Heaven will forgive me, if you will.’</p> +<p>‘If I understand you aright, it is well,’ said Esclairmonde, +still gravely and doubtfully.</p> +<p>‘It is so indeed,’ protested Malcolm, with a terrible +wrench to his heart, yet a sensation of freeing his conscience. +‘Fear me no longer now. After that which I saw at Vincennes, +I know what it is to be on the straight path, and—oh! what it +is to have fallen from it. How could I dream of dragging you down +to be with one so unworthy, becoming more worthless each day? +Lady, if I never see you more, pardon me, pray for me, as a saint for +a poor outcast on earth!’</p> +<p>‘Hush,’ said Esclairmonde; ‘I am no saint—only +a maiden pledged. But, Sir, I thank you fervently. You have +lightened my heart of one of my fears.’</p> +<p>Malcolm could not but be cheered by being for once spoken to by her +in so friendly a tone; and he added, gravely and resolutely: ‘My +suit, then, I yield up, lady—yield for ever. Am I permitted +once to kiss that fair and holy hand, as I resign my presumptuous hopes +thereof?’</p> +<p>‘Mayhap it were wiser left undone,’ said Esclairmonde. +‘My mind misgives me that this meeting is planned to bring us +into trouble. Farewell, my lord.’</p> +<p>As she had apprehended, the door was flung back, and Countess Jaqueline +rushed in, clasping her hands in an affectation of merry surprise, as +she cried, ‘Here they are! See, Monseigneur! No keeping +doves apart!’</p> +<p>‘Madame,’ said Esclairmonde, turning on her with cold +dignity, ‘I have been thanking Monsieur de Glenuskie for having +resigned the suit that I always declared to be in vain.’</p> +<p>‘You misunderstood, Clairette,’ said Jaqueline. +‘No gentleman ever so spoke! No, no; my young lord has kept +his promise to me, and I will not fail him.’</p> +<p>‘Madame,’ faltered Malcolm, ‘I came by command +of the King of Scots.’</p> +<p>‘So much the better,’ cried Jaqueline. ‘So +he can play into our hands, for all his grandeur! It will lose +him his wager, though! Here is bride—there is priest—nay, +bishop!’ pointing to him of Thérouenne, who had accompanied +her, but hitherto had stood silent.</p> +<p>‘Madame,’ said Malcolm, ‘the time and state of +the household forbid.’</p> +<p>‘<i>Ma foi</i>! What is that to us? King Henry +is neither our brother nor our father; and Catherine will soon laugh +at it as a good joke.’</p> +<p>‘Nay,’ said the Bishop, with more propriety, ‘it +is the contract and troth-plight alone that could take place at present. +That secure, the full solemnities will await a fitting time; but it +is necessary that the troth be exchanged at once.’</p> +<p>‘Monseigneur,’ said Esclairmonde, ‘mine is in other +keeping.’</p> +<p>‘And, Monseigneur,’ added Malcolm, ‘I have just +told the lady that I repent of having fallen from my vocation, and persecuted +her.’</p> +<p>‘How, Sir!’ said the Bishop, turning on him; ‘do +you thus lightly treat a lady of the house of Luxemburg? Beware! +There are those who know how to visit an insult on a malapert lad, who +meddles with the honour of the family.’</p> +<p>‘Be not threatened, Lord Malcolm,’ said Esclairmonde, +with a gleam in her eye.</p> +<p>And Malcolm was Stewart enough to answer with spirit: ‘My lord, +I will meet them if needed. This lady is so affianced, that it +is sacrilege to aspire to her.’</p> +<p>‘Ah!’ said the Bishop, in an audible aside to the giggling +Countess: ‘this comes of her having thrown herself at the youth’s +head. Now he will no more of her.’</p> +<p>Crimson with wrath, and also with a wild sense of hope that the obligation +had become absolute, Malcolm made a vehement incoherent exclamation; +but Esclairmonde retained her composure.</p> +<p>‘Monseigneur and Madame both know better,’ she said. +‘This is but another menace.’</p> +<p>‘Peace, minion,’ said the Bishop of Thérouenne, +‘and listen to me. If this young gentleman, after professing +himself willing to wed you, now draws back, so much the worse for him. +But if you terrify him out of it with your humours, then will my brother +St. Pol and the Duke of Burgundy soon be here, with no King of England +to meddle; and by St. Adrian, Sir Boëmond will be daunted by no +airs, like Monsieur there. A bride shall you be, Esclairmonde +de Luxemburg, ere the week is out, if not to Monsieur de Glenuskie, +to the Chevalier Boëmond de Bourgogne.’</p> +<p>‘Look not at me,’ said Jaqueline. ‘I am weary +of your contumacy. All I shall do is to watch you well. +I’ve suspected for some days that you were concocting mischief +with the little Montagu; but you’ll not escape again, as when +I was fool enough to help you.’</p> +<p>The two stood a few paces apart, where they had been discovered; +Esclairmonde’s eyes were closed, her hands clasped, as if in silent +prayer for aid.</p> +<p>‘Girl—your choice!’ said the Bishop, peremptorily. +‘Wedlock on the spot to this gentleman, or to Sir Boëmond +a week hence.’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde was very white.</p> +<p>‘My will shall not consent to a present breach of vow to save +a future one,’ she said, in a scarce audible voice.</p> +<p>A sudden thought darted into Malcolm’s mind. With colour +flooding his face to his very temples, he stepped nearer to her, and +said, in a tremulous under-tone, ‘Lady, trust me.’</p> +<p>The Bishop withheld Jaqueline almost by force, so soon as he saw +that the pair were whispering together, and that there was something +of relaxation in Esclairmonde’s face as she looked up at him in +silent interrogation.</p> +<p>He spoke low, but solemnly and imploringly. ‘Trust me +with your plight, lady, and I will restore it when you are free.’</p> +<p>Hardly able to speak, she however murmured, ‘You will indeed +do this?’</p> +<p>‘So help me Heaven!’ he said, and his eyes grew large +and bright; he held his head with the majesty of his race.</p> +<p>‘Heaven has sent you,’ said Esclairmonde, with a long +sigh, and holding out her hand to him, as though therewith she conferred +a high-souled woman’s full trust.</p> +<p>And Malcolm took it with a strange pang of pain and exultation at +the heart. The trust was won, but the hope of earthly joy was +gone for ever.</p> +<p>The Countess broke out with a shout of triumph: ‘There, there! +they have come to reason at last. There’s an end of her +folly.’</p> +<p>Malcolm felt himself a man, and Esclairmonde’s protector, all +at once, as he stood forth, still holding her hand.</p> +<p>‘Monseigneur,’ he said, ‘this lady consents to +intrust her troth to me, and be affianced to me’—his chest +heaved, but he still spoke firmly—‘on condition that no +word be spoken of the matter, nor any completion of the rite take place +until the mourning for King Henry be at an end;’ and, at a sort +of shiver from Esclairmonde, he added: ‘Not for a year, by which +time I shall be of full age.’</p> +<p>‘A strange bridegroom!’ said Jaqueline; ‘but maybe +you do well to get her on what terms you can. Do you agree, Monseigneur?’</p> +<p>In truth, Monseigneur may have been relieved that the trial of strength +between him and his ward had thus terminated. He was only anxious +to have the matter concluded.</p> +<p>The agreement, binding Malcolm to accept a stated number of crowns +in instalments, as the value of Esclairmonde’s lands, under the +guarantee of the Duke of Burgundy and King James of Scotland, had all +been long ago signed, sealed, and secured; and there was nothing to +prevent the <i>fiancailles</i>, or espousals, from taking place at once.</p> +<p>It was a much more real ceremony than a mere betrothal, being, in +fact, in the eye of the civil law a marriage, though the full blessing +and the sacramental words of union were deferred for the completion +of the rite. It was the first part of the Marriage Service, binding +the pair so indissolubly to one another, that neither could enter into +wedlock with any one else as long as the other lived—except, of +course, by Papal dispensation; and in cases of stolen weddings, it was +all that was deemed needful.</p> +<p>All therefore that remained to be done was, that the Bishop summoned +his chaplain to serve as a witness and as scribe; and then the two young +people, in their deep mourning dresses, standing before the Bishop, +vowed to belong to none other than to one another, and the betrothal +rings being produced, were placed on their fingers, and their hands +were clasped. Malcolm’s was steady, as he felt Esclairmonde’s +rest in his untrembling, but with the quietness of one who trusted all +in all where she trusted at all.</p> +<p>‘Poor children! they have all to learn,’ hilariously +shouted the Countess. ‘They have forgotten the kiss!’</p> +<p>‘Will you suffer it, my sister?’ said Malcolm, with burning +cheeks.</p> +<p>‘My brother and my guardian!’ responded Esclairmonde, +raising the white brow to his lips.</p> +<p>At that moment back went the door, and in flew Alice Montagu, crying +aloud, ‘Clairette! the Queen—oh, Madame, your pardon! but +I am sent for Esclairmonde. The Queen is in worse fits than ever. +Sir Lewis can’t get the ring from her. They think she will +rave like her father presently! Come!’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde could only hurry away at this; while Alice, grasping +her hand, continued:</p> +<p>‘Oh, have they been persecuting you? I dreaded it when +I saw yon little wretch; but—oh, Esclairmonde, what is this?’ +in an utterly changed voice.</p> +<p>‘He holds my faith in trust. He will restore it,’ +said Esclairmonde, hurriedly.</p> +<p>But Lady Montagu spoke not another word; and, indeed, they were hard +upon the English queen’s rooms, whence they already heard hysterical +screams of passion.</p> +<p>Jaqueline had immediately set forth in the same direction out of +curiosity; and Malcolm in much anxiety, since the mission that he had +been cautioned to guard so jealously seemed in danger of being known +everywhere. He had himself been allowed to stand by the Queen’s +bedside, and rehearse James’s message; but when he had further +hinted of his being sent by Bedford to bring the ring, the Queen, perhaps +at the mention of the brother-in-law, pouted, knew nothing of any ring, +and supposed M. le Duc meant to strip her, a poor desolate widow, of +all her jewels.</p> +<p>Then Malcolm had spoken in private with Sir Lewis Robsart, who knew +the ring was among her jewels, and promised to get it for him as soon +as was possible; and it was while waiting for this that Malcolm had +been summoned to the Countess of Hainault’s apartments.</p> +<p>But ere Sir Lewis could get the ear of the Queen, as he now told +Malcolm, her mother had been with her. Catherine was dull, jealous, +unwilling to part with anything, but always easily coaxed over. +Her mother Isabeau had, on the other hand, a good deal of low cunning +and selfishness, and understood how valuable an instrument might be +a duplicate seal of a deceased monarch. Therefore she instigated +her daughter to deny that she possessed it, and worked her up into a +state of impracticability, in which Sir Lewis Robsart was unable to +deal with her, and only produced so wild a tempest of passion as perfectly +to appal both him and her ladies.</p> +<p>That the Duke of Bedford had sent for a ring, which she would not +give up, was known over the whole palace; the only matter still not +perhaps known was, what was the value of that individual ring.</p> +<p>Robsart, however, promised to exonerate Malcolm from having shown +any indiscretion; he charged it all on himself for having left his Queen +for an instant to Isabeau.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, Malcolm and he, with other nobles and ladies, waited, +waited in the outer chamber, listening to the fearful storm of shrieks +and cries, till they began to spend themselves and die away; and then +they heard Esclairmonde’s low voice singing her lullaby, and every +one breathed freer, as though relieved, and murmurs of conversation +rose again. Malcolm moved across to greet the Lady Montagu; and +though she looked at him with all the disdain her little gentle face +could accomplish, he had somehow a spring and strength in him that could +not now be brow-beaten.</p> +<p>He bent over her, and said, ‘Lady, I see you know all. +It is but a trust.’</p> +<p>‘If you so treat it, Sir, you will do well,’ responded +the young matron, with as much stern gravity as she could assume; the +fact being that she longed to break down and cry heartily, that Esclairmonde +should so far have failed, and become like other people.</p> +<p>Long, long they waited—Malcolm with a strange dreamy feeling +at his heart, neither triumph nor disappointment, but something between +both, and peace above all. Dinner was served in the hall; the +company returned to the outer apartment, yet still all was silent within; +till at last, late in the afternoon, there came a black figure forth +from under the black hangings, and Esclairmonde, turning to Lady Warwick, +said, ‘The Queen is awake, and desires her ladies’ presence.’ +And then coming towards Malcolm, who was standing near Sir Lewis Robsart, +she placed in his hand the signet-ring.</p> +<p>Both, while the attendants of the Queen filed back into her chamber, +eagerly demanded how the ring had been obtained.</p> +<p>‘Poor lady!’ said Esclairmonde, ‘she was too much +spent to withhold anything. She was weak and exhausted with cries +and tears; and when she had slept, she was as meek as a lamb; and there +was no more ado but to bid her remember that the blessed King her lord +would have bidden her let the ring be broken up at once, lest it should +be used so as to harm her son.’</p> +<p>That Esclairmonde had prevailed by that gentle force of character +which no one could easily resist, could not, however, be doubted for +a moment; and a fresh thrill of amazement, and almost of joy, came over +Malcolm at the sense that he had become the protector of such a being, +and that in a sort she belonged to him, and was in his power, having +trusted herself to him.</p> +<p>Robsart advised, and Esclairmonde concurred in the counsel, that +Lord Glenuskie should set forth for Vincennes immediately, before there +should be time for any more cabals, or for Queen Isabeau to have made +her daughter repent of having delivered up the signet-ring.</p> +<p>Malcolm therefore at once took leave of his affianced, venturing +to kiss her hand as he looked wistfully in her face, and said, ‘Dear +lady, how shall I thank you for this trust?’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde gave her sweet grave smile, as she said, ‘To God’s +keeping I commend you, Sir.’ She would not even bid him +be true to his trust; it would have seemed to her to insult him in whom +her confidence was placed, and she only added: ‘I shall ever bless +you for having saved me. Farewell! Now am I bound for ever +to pray for you and your sister.’</p> +<p>And it would be impossible to tell how the sense of Esclairmonde’s +trust, and of the resolute self-denial it would require of him, elevated +Malcolm’s whole tone, and braced his mind. The taking away +of his original high purpose had rendered him as aimless and pleasure-loving +as any ordinary lad; but the situation in which he now stood—guarding +this saintly being for her chosen destiny, at the expense of all possible +earthly projects for his own happiness or ambition—was such as +to bring out that higher side of his nature that had well-nigh collapsed. +As he stood alone in the ante-room, waiting until his horse and escort +should be ready for his return, a flood of happiness seemed to gush +over him. Esclairmonde was no more his own, indeed, than was King +Henry’s signet; but the trust was very precious, and gave him +at least the power of thinking of her as joined by a closer link than +even his sister Lilias. And towards her his conscience was again +clear, for this very betrothal put marriage out of the question for +him, and was a real seal of his dedication. He only felt as if +his heart ought not to be so light and peaceful, while his penance was +still unsaid, his absolution not yet pronounced.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XV: THE TRUST</h2> +<p>James of Scotland and John of Bedford sat together in the twilight +of a long and weary day, spent by the one in standing like a statue +at the head of his deceased friend as a part of the pageant of the lying-in-state +in the chapel, whither multitudes had crowded throughout the day to +see the ‘mighty victor, mighty lord, lie low on his funeral couch;’ +the nobles gazing with a certain silent and bitter satisfaction at him +who had not only broken the pride of their country, but had with his +iron hand repressed their own private exactions, while the poor and +the peasants openly bewailed him as the father and the friend who had +stood between them and their harsh feudal lords. By the other, +the hours had passed in the press of toil and perplexity that had fallen +on him as the yet unaccredited representative of English power in France, +and in writing letters to those persons at home from whom he must derive +his authority. The hour of rest and relaxation was welcome to +both, though they chiefly spent it each leaning back in his chair in +silence.</p> +<p>‘Your messenger is not come back,’ said Bedford, presently, +rousing himself.</p> +<p>‘It may have been no easy task,’ replied James, not however +without uneasiness.</p> +<p>‘I would,’ said Bedford, presently, ‘that I had +writ the matter straight to Robsart. The lad is weak, and may +be tampered with.’</p> +<p>‘He knows that I have pledged my honour for him,’ said +James.</p> +<p>Bedford’s thin lips moved at the corners.</p> +<p>‘Nay,’ said James, not angrily, ‘the youth hath +in some measure disappointed me. The evil in him shot forth faster +than the good under this camp life; but methinks there is in him a certain +rare quality of soul that I loved him for at the first, and though it +hath lain asleep all this time, yet what he hath now seen seemed to +me about to work the change in him.’</p> +<p>‘It may be so,’ said Bedford; ‘and yet I would +I had not consented to his going where that woman of Hainault might +work on him to fret the Lady Esclairmonde.’</p> +<p>James started somewhat as he remembered overruling this objection +of Malcolm’s own making. ‘She cannot have the insolence,’ +he said.</p> +<p>At that moment a hasty step approached; the door was opened with +scant ceremony, and Ralf Percy, covered from head to foot with blood, +hurried in breathless and panting.</p> +<p>‘My lord Duke, your license! Here is Malcolm Stewart +set upon in the forest by robbers and stabbed!’</p> +<p>‘Slain? Dead?’ cried both princes, springing up +in horror.</p> +<p>‘Alive still—in the chapel—asking for you, my lord,’ +said Percy. ‘He bade us lay him there at the King’s +feet; and as it was the readiest way to a priest, we did his bidding.’</p> +<p>‘My poor Malcolm!’ sighed James; and he and Bedford hastened +to obey the summons.</p> +<p>There was time on the way for Ralf Percy to give them the particulars. +‘We had gone forth—Trenton, Kitson, altogether some half-dozen +of us—for a mouthful of air in the forest after our guard all +day in the chapel, when about a mile from the Castle we heard a scuffle, +and clashing of arms. So breaking through the thicket, we saw +a score of fellows on horseback fully armed, and in the midst poor Glenuskie +dragged to the ground and struggling hard with two of them. We +drew our swords, hallooed, and leapt out; and the knaves never stayed +to see how many of us there were, but made off like the dastards they +were, but not till one had dealt poor Stewart this parting stroke. +He hath been bleeding like a sheep all the way home, and hath scarce +spoken but a thanksgiving for our having come in time, as he called +it, and to ask for Dr. Bennet and the Duke.’</p> +<p>The words brought them to the door of the chapel, where for a time +the chants around King Henry had paused in the agitation of the new +arrival. As the black and white crowd of priests and monks opened +and made way for the King and Duke, they saw, in the full light of the +wax tapers, laid on a pile of cushions not far from King Henry’s +feet, the figure of Malcolm, his riding-gown open at the breast, and +kerchiefs dyed and soaked with blood upon it; the black of his garments +and hair enhancing the ghastly whiteness of his face, and yet an air +of peace and joy in the eyes and in the folded hands, as Dr. Bennet +and another priest stood over him, administering those abbreviated rites +of farewell blessing which the Church sanctioned in cases of sudden +and violent death. The princes both stood aside, and presently +Malcolm faintly said, ‘Thank God! I trusted to His mercy +to pardon! Now all would be well could I but see the Duke.’</p> +<p>‘I am here, dear youth,’ said Bedford, kneeling on one +side of him; while James, coming to the other side, spoke to him affectionately; +but to him Malcolm only replied by a fond clasp of the hand, giving +his sole attention to Bedford, to whom he held the signet.</p> +<p>‘It has cost too much,’ said Bedford, sadly.</p> +<p>‘Oh, Sir, this would be naught, save that I am all that lies +between her—the Lady Esclairmonde—and Boëmond of Burgundy;’ +and as at that moment Bedford saw the gold betrothal ring on the finger, +his countenance lost something of the pitying concern it had worn. +Malcolm detected the expression, and rallying his powers the more, continued: +‘Sir, there was no help—they vowed that she must choose +between Boëmond and me. On the faith of a dying man, I hold +her troth but in trust; I pledged myself to her to restore it when her +way is clear to her purpose. She would never be mine but in name. +And now who will save her? My life alone is between her and yonder +wolf. Oh, Sir Duke, promise me to save her, and I die content.’</p> +<p>‘This is mere waste of time!’ broke in the Duke. +‘Where are the knave chirurgeons?—See, James, if the lad +dies, ’twill be from mere loss of blood; there is no inward bleeding; +and if there be no more loitering, he will do well.’</p> +<p>And seeing the surgeons at hand, he would have risen to make way, +but Malcolm held him fast, reiterating, ‘Save her, Sir.’</p> +<p>‘If your life guards her, throw it not away by thus dallying,’ +said Bedford, disengaging himself; while Malcolm groaned heavily, and +turned his heavy eyes to his royal friend, who said kindly, ‘Fear +not, dear cousin; either thou wilt live, or he will be better than his +word.’</p> +<p>‘God will guard her, I know,’ said Malcolm; ‘and +oh! my own dear lord, I need not ask you to be the brother to my poor +sister you have been to me. At least all will be clear for her +and Patie!’</p> +<p>‘I trust not yet,’ said James, smiling in encouragement. +‘Thou wilt live, my faithful laddie.’</p> +<p>Malcolm was spent and nearly fainting by this time, and all his reply +was a few gasps of ‘Only say you pardon me all, my lord, and will +speak for <i>her</i> to the Duke! ask <i>her</i> prayers for me!’ +and as James sealed his few words of reply with a kiss, he closed his +eyes, and became unconscious; in which state he was conveyed to his +bed.</p> +<p>‘You might have set his mind at rest,’ said James, somewhat +hurt, to the Duke.</p> +<p>‘Who? I!’ said Bedford. ‘I cannot stir +a finger that could set us at enmity with Burgundy, for any lady in +the land. Moreover, if she have found means to secure herself +once, she can do so again.’</p> +<p>‘I would you could have been more kind to my poor boy,’ +said James.</p> +<p>‘Methought I was the most reasonably kind of you all! +Had it not been mere murder to keep him there prating and bleeding, +I had asked of him what indiscretion had blown the secret and perilled +the signet. No robbers were those between Paris and Vincennes +in our midst, but men who knew what he bore. I’ll never—’</p> +<p>Bedford just restrained himself from saying, ‘trust a Scot +again;’ but his manner had vexed and pained James, who returned +to Malcolm, and left him no more till called by necessity to his post +as King Henry’s chief mourner, when the care of him was left to +Patrick Drummond and old Bairdsbrae; and Malcolm was a very tranquil +patient, who seemed to need nothing but the pleasure of looking at the +ring on his finger. The weapon had evidently touched no vital +part, and he was decidedly on the way to recovery, when on the second +evening Bedford met James, saying: ‘I have seen Robsart. +It was no indiscretion of young Glenuskie’s. It was only +what comes of dealing with women. Can I see the boy without peril +to him?’</p> +<p>Malcolm was so much better, that there was no reason against the +Duke’s admission, and soon Bedford’s falcon-face looked +down on him in all its melancholy.</p> +<p>‘Thanks, my Lord Glenuskie,’ he said; ‘I thought +not to be sending you on a service of such risk.’</p> +<p>‘It was a welcome service,’ said Malcolm.</p> +<p>Bedford’s brows knitted themselves for a moment as he said, +‘I came to ask whether you deem that this hurt was from a common +robber or <i>routier</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Assuredly not,’ said Malcolm, but very low; and looking +up into his face, as he added, ‘This should be for your ear alone, +Sir.’</p> +<p>They were left alone, and the Duke said: ‘I have heard from +Robsart how the ring was obtained. You may spare that part of +the story.’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ said Malcolm, ‘when the Lady Esclairmonde’ +(for he was not to be balked of dwelling on that name with prolonged +delight) ‘had brought me the ring, Sir Lewis Robsart advised my +setting forth without loss of time.’</p> +<p>‘So he told me,’ said the Duke; ‘and likewise that +you took his words so literally as to set out with only three followers.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, Sir; but he knew not wherefore. My escort had gone +forth into the city, and while they were being collected, a message +bade me to the Lady Esclairmonde’s presence. I went, suspecting +naught, but I found myself in presence of Madame of Hainault, and of +a veiled lady—who, my Lord—’ He paused. +‘She was broad in form, and had a trick of gasping as though over-fat.’</p> +<p>Bedford nodded. Every one knew Queen Isabeau by these tokens.</p> +<p>‘She scarce spoke, my Lord; but the Countess Jaqueline pretended +to be in one of her merry moods. She told me one good turn deserved +another, and that, as in gratitude and courtesy bound, I must do her +the favour of either lending her the signet, or, if I would not let +it out of my hands, of setting it to a couple of parchments, which she +declared King Henry had promised to grant.’</p> +<p>‘The false woman!’</p> +<p>‘Sir, words told not on her. She laughed and clapped +her hands at whatever I said of honour, faith, or trust. She would +have it that it was a jest—nay, romping fashion, she seized my +hand, which I let her have, knowing it was only my own seal that was +on it. Never was I so glad that the signet being too small for +my fingers, it was in my bosom.’</p> +<p>‘Knew you what the parchments bore?’ asked, Bedford, +anxiously.</p> +<p>‘One—so far as I could see—was of the Duke of Orleans’ +liberty,’ said Malcolm. ‘The other—pardon me, +Sir—it bore the names of Duke Humfrey and Countess Jaqueline.’</p> +<p>‘The shameless wanton!’ broke forth Bedford. ‘How +did you escape her at last, boy?’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ said Malcolm, turning as red as loss of blood +permitted, ‘she had not kept her hands off me; therefore when +she stood between me and the door, I told her that discourtesy was better +than trust-breaking, and while she jeered at my talking out of a book +of chivalry, I e’en took her by the hands, lifted her aside, opened +the door, ran down-stairs, and so to the stables, where I mounted with +the only three men I could get together.’</p> +<p>Bedford could not but laugh, as he added, ‘Bravely done, Lord +Malcolm; but, I fear me, she will never forgive you. What next?’</p> +<p>‘I left word for the other fellows to join us at the hostel +by the gate, and tarried for them till I feared being here after the +gates were fast; then set out without them, and rode till, just within +the forest, a band of men, how many I cannot tell, were on us, and before +my sword was well drawn they had surrounded me, and seized my bridle. +One of them bade me submit quietly, and they would not harm me, if I +would yield up that which I wist of. I said I would sooner yield +my life than my trust; whereupon they mastered me, and dragged me off +my horse, and were rifling me, when I—knowing the Flemish accent +of that drunken fellow of the Countess’s—called out, “Shame +on you, Ghisbert!” Then it was that he stabbed me, even +at the moment when the holy Saints sent brave Percy and the rest to +rush in upon them.’</p> +<p>‘You are sure it was Ghisbert?’ repeated Bedford, anxiously.</p> +<p>‘As certain as a man’s voice can make me,’ said +Malcolm. ‘Methinks, had I not named him, he would perhaps +have bound me to a tree, and left it to be thought that they were but +common thieves.’</p> +<p>‘Belike,’ said Bedford, thoughtfully. ‘We +are beholden to you, my Lord Glenuskie; the whole state of England is +beholden to you for the saving of the confusion and evils the loss of +that ring would have caused. You can keep counsel, I wot well. +Then let all this matter of the Queen and Countess rest a secret.’</p> +<p>Malcolm looked amazed; and Bedford added: ‘I cannot quarrel +with the woman, nor banish her from Court. Did we accuse her, +Holland would become Armagnac; nor is she subject of ours, to have justice +done on her. It is for her interest to hush the matter up, and +it must be ours too. If that knave Ghisbert ever gives me the +chance, he shall hang like a dog; but for the rest—’ he +shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>‘And,’ said Malcolm, ‘Ghisbert only meant to serve +his lady. Any vassal of mine would do the like for me or my sister.’</p> +<p>Bedford half smiled; then sighed and said: ‘Once we were like +to get laws more obeyed than lords; but that is all over now! +Yet you, young Sir, have seen a great pattern; you will have great powers!’</p> +<p>‘Sir,’ interrupted Malcolm, ‘I pray you believe +me, great powers I shall not have. As I told you last night, I +do but hold this precious troth in trust! It must be a secret, +or it would not save her; but you—oh, Sir! you will believe that!’</p> +<p>‘If it be so,’ said Bedford, gravely, ‘it is too +sacred a trust to be spoken of. You will deserve greater honour +if you keep your word, than ever you will receive from the world. +Farewell—and recover fast.’</p> +<p>Malcolm did not meet with much encouragement from the few to whom +he thought fit to confide the conditions of his espousal. The +King allowed that he could not have acted otherwise, but was concerned +at it, because of the hindrance that might for years be interposed in +the way of his welfare; and secretly hoped that Malcolm, in his new +capacity, would so gain on Esclairmonde’s esteem and gratitude, +as to win her affection, and that by mutual consent they would lay aside +their loftier promises, and take up their espousal where they had left +it.</p> +<p>And what James secretly desired, Sir Patrick Drummond openly recommended. +In his eyes, Malcolm would be no better than a fool if he let his ladye-love, +with all her lands, slip through his fingers, when she was lawfully +his own. Patrick held that a monastery was a good place to be +nursed in if wounded, and a convenience for disposing of dull or weakly +younger sons; and he preferred that there should be some holy men to +pray for those who did the hard and bloody work of the world; but he +had no desire that any one belonging to himself should plunge into extra +sanctity; and the more he saw Malcolm developing into a man among men, +the more he opposed the notion of his dedicating himself.</p> +<p>A man! Yes; Malcolm was rising from his bed notably advanced +in manliness. As the King’s keen eye had seen from the first, +and as Esclairmonde had felt, there was an elevation, tenderness, and +refinement in his cast of character, which if left to his natural destiny +would have either worn out his life early in the world, or carried him +to the obscure shelter of a convent. In the novelty of the secular +life, and temptations of all kinds, dread of ridicule, and the flood +of excitements which came with reviving health, that very sensitiveness +led him astray; and the elevated aims fell with a heavier fall when +diverted from heavenly palaces to earthly ones. Self-reproach +and dejection drove him further from the right course, and in proportion +to the greater amount of conscience he had by nature, his character +was the more deteriorating. His deeds were far less evil in themselves +than those of many of his companions, but inasmuch as they were not +thoughtless in him, they were injuring him more. But the sudden +shock of Patrick’s danger roused him to a new sense of shame. +King Henry’s death had lifted his mind out of the earthly atmosphere, +and then the treasure of Esclairmonde’s pure and perfect trust +seemed to be the one thing to be guarded worthily and truly. It +gave him weight, drew him out of himself, lifted him above the boyish +atmosphere of random self-indulgence and amusement. To be the +protector who should guard her vows for the heavenly Bridegroom to whom +her soul was devoted, was indeed a championship that in his eyes could +only have befitted Sir Galahad; and a Galahad would he strive to be, +so long as that championship held him to the secular life. James +and Bedford both told him he had won his spurs, and should have them +on the next fit occasion; but he had ceased to care for knighthood, +save in that half-consecrated aspect which he thought would render his +guardianship less unmeet for Esclairmonde.</p> +<p>She had not shunned to send him a kind greeting on hearing of his +wound, and by way of token a fresh leaf of vellum with a few more of +those meditations from Zwoll—meditations that he spelled over +from Latin into English, and dwelt upon in great tranquillity and soothing +of spirit during the days that he was confined to his bed.</p> +<p>These were not many. He was on his feet by the time the funeral +cavalcade was in readiness to move from Vincennes to convey Henry of +Monmouth to his last resting-place in Westminster Abbey. Bedford +could not be spared to return to England, and was only to go as far +as Calais; and James of Scotland was therefore to act as chief mourner, +attended by his own small personal suite.</p> +<p>Sir Patrick Drummond—though, shrugging his shoulders, he muttered +that he should as soon have thought of becoming mourner at the foul +fiend’s funeral as at the King of England’s—could +not object to swell the retinue of his sovereign by his knighthood; +and though neither he nor Malcolm were in condition for a campaign, +both could ride at the slow pace of the mournful procession.</p> +<p>The coffin was laid on a great car, drawn by four black horses, and +surmounted by Henry’s effigy, made in boiled leather and coloured +to the life, robed in purple and ermine, crown on head, sceptre and +orb in either hand. The great knights and nobles rode on each +side, carrying the banners of the Saints; and close behind came James +and Bedford, each with his immediate attendants; then the household +officers of the King, Fitzhugh his chamberlain, Montagu his cup-bearer, +Ralf Percy and his other squires, and all the rest. Four hundred +men-at-arms in black armour, with lances pointed downwards, formed the +guard behind; and the vanguard was of clergy, robed in white, bearing +banners and wax lights, and chanting psalms. At the border of +every parish, all the ecclesiastics thereto appertaining, parochial, +chantry, and monastic, turned out to meet the procession with their +tapers; escorted it to the principal church; performed Mass there, if +it were in the forenoon; and then accompanied the coffin to the other +limit of their ground, and consigned it to the clerks of the next parish. +At night, the royal remains always rested in a church, guarded by alternate +watches of the English men-at-arms, and sung over by the local clergy, +while the escort were quartered in the town, village, or abbey where +the halt chanced to be made. Very slow was this progress; almost +like a continual dream was that long column, moving, moving on—white +in front, black behind—when seen winding over a hill, or, sometimes, +the banners peering over the autumn foliage of some thicket, all composed +to profound silence and tardy measured tread; while the chants rose +and fell with the breeze, like unearthly music. Many moved on +more than half asleep; and others of the younger men felt like Ralf +Percy, who, for all his real sorrow for the King, declared that, were +it not for rushing out, morning and evening, for a bathe and a gallop, +to fly a hawk or chase a hare, he should some day run crazed, blow out +all the wax lights, or play some mad prank to break the intolerable +oppression. Malcolm smiled at this; but to him, still in the dreamy +inertness of recovery, this tranquil onward movement in the still autumn +weather had some thing in it of healing influence; and the sweet chants, +the continual offices of devotion, were accordant with his present tone +of mind, and deepened the purpose he had formed.</p> +<p>Queen Catherine and her ladies joined the funeral march at Rouen, +or rather followed it at a mile’s interval; but the two trains +kept apart, and only occasional messages were sent from one to the other. +Some of the gentlemen, who had a wife or sister in the Queen’s +suite, would ride at nightfall to pay her a hasty visit; but Malcolm—though +he longed to be sent—durst not intrude upon Esclairmonde; and +the Duke of Bedford was not only forced to spend all the evening and +half the night in business, but was not loth to put off the day of the +meeting with his dear sister Catherine—to say nothing of the ‘Woman +of Hainault.’</p> +<p>Therefore it was not until all had arrived at Calais, where a fleet +was waiting to meet them, that any visits were openly made by the one +party to the other.</p> +<p>Bedford and James went together to the apartments of the Queen, and +while they saw her in private, Malcolm came blushing towards Esclairmonde, +and was welcomed by her with a frank smile, outstretched hand, and kind +inquiry after his recovery.</p> +<p>She treated him indeed as a brother, as one on whom she depended, +and had really wished to see and arrange with. She told him that +Alice Montagu and her husband were returning to England, and that her +little friend had so earnestly prayed her to abide with her at Middleham +for the present, that she had consented—‘until such time +as the way be open,’ said Esclairmonde, with her steady patient +smile.</p> +<p>Malcolm bowed his head. ‘I am glad you will not be forced +to be with your Countess,’ he said.</p> +<p>‘My poor lady! Maybe I have spoken too plainly. +But I owe her much. I must ever pray for her. And you, my +lord?’</p> +<p>‘I,’ said Malcolm, ‘shall go to study at Oxford. +Dr. Bennet intends returning thither to continue his course of teaching, +and my king has consented to my studying with him. It will not +cut me off, lady, from that which you permit me to be. King Henry +and his brothers have all been scholars there.’</p> +<p>‘I understand,’ said Esclairmonde, slightly colouring. +‘It is well. And truly I trust that matters may be so guided, +that care for me may not long detain you from more lasting vows—be +they of heaven or earth.’</p> +<p>‘Lady,’ said Malcolm, earnestly, ‘none who had +been plighted to you <i>could</i> pledge himself to aught else save +One above!’</p> +<p>Then, feeling in himself, or seeing in Esclairmonde’s face, +that he was treading on dangerous ground, he asked leave to present +to her his cousin, Patrick Drummond: and this was accordingly done; +the lady comporting herself with so much sweet graciousness, that the +good knight, as they left the hall, exclaimed: ‘By St. Andrew, +Malcolm, if you let that maiden escape you now she is more than half-wedded +to you, you’ll be the greatest fool in broad Scotland. Why, +she is a very queen for beauty, and would rule Glenuskie like a princess—ay, +and defend the Castle like Black Agnes of Dunbar herself! If you +give her up, ye’ll be no better than a clod.’</p> +<p>Malcolm and Patrick had been borne off by James’s quitting +the Castle; Bedford remained longer, having affairs to arrange with +the Queen. As he left her, he too turned aside to the window where +Esclairmonde sat as usual spinning, and Lady Montagu not far off, but +at present absorbed by her father, who was to remain in France.</p> +<p>One moment’s hesitation, and then Bedford stepped towards the +Demoiselle de Luxemburg, and greeted her. She looked up in his +face, and saw its settled look of sad patient energy, which made it +full ten years older in appearance than when they had sat together at +Pentecost, and she marked the badge that he had assumed, a torn-up root +with the motto, ‘The root is dead.’</p> +<p>‘Ah! my lord, things are changed,’ she could not help +saying, as she felt that he yearned for comfort.</p> +<p>‘Changed indeed!’ he said; ‘God’s will be +done! Lady,’ he added, ‘you wot of that which once +passed between us. I was grieved at first that you chose a different +protector in your need.’</p> +<p>‘You <i>could</i> not, my lord,’ faltered Esclairmonde, +crimson as she never had been when speaking to Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘No, I <i>could</i> not,’ said Bedford; ‘and, lady, +my purpose was to thank you for the generous soul that perceived that +so it is. You spared me from a cruel case. I have no self +any longer, Esclairmonde; all I am, all I have, all I can, must be spent +in guarding Harry’s work for his boy. To all else I am henceforth +dead; and all I can do is to be thankful, lady, that you have spared +me the sorest trial of all, both to heart and honour.’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde’s eyes were downcast, as she said, ‘Heaven +is the protector of those of true and kind purpose;’ and then +gathering courage, as being perfectly aware to whom Bedford must give +his hand if he would conciliate Burgundy, she added, ‘And, verily, +Sir, the way of policy is this time a happy one. Let me but tell +you how I have known and loved gentle Lady Anne.’</p> +<p>Bedford shook his head with a half smile and a heavy sigh. +‘Time fails me, dear lady,’ he said; ‘and I cannot +brook any maiden’s praise, even from you. I only wait to +ask whether there be any way yet left wherein I can serve you. +I will strive to deal with your kinsmen to restore your lands.’</p> +<p>‘Hold!’ said Esclairmonde. ‘Never for lands +of mine will I have your difficulties added to. No—let them +go! It was a vain, proud dream when I thought myself most humble, +to become a foundress; and if I know my kinsmen, they will be too much +angered to bestow on me the dower required by a convent. No, Sir; +all I would dare to inquire would be, whether you have any voice in +choosing the bedeswomen of St. Katharine’s Hospital?’</p> +<p>‘The bedeswomen! They come chiefly from the citizens, +not from princely houses like yours!’ said John, in consternation.</p> +<p>‘I have done with princely houses,’ said Esclairmonde. +‘A Flemish maiden would be of no small service among the many +whom trade brings to your port from the Netherlands, and my longing +has ever been to serve my Lord through His poor and afflicted.’</p> +<p>‘It is my father’s widow who holds the appointments,’ +said John. ‘Between her and me there hath been little good-will, +but my dear brother’s last act towards her was of forgiveness. +She may wish to keep well with us of the Regency—and more like +still, she will be pleased that one of so great a house as yours should +sue to her. I will give you a letter to her, praying her to remember +you at the next vacancy; and mayhap, if the Lady Montagu could take +you to visit her, you could prevail with her! But, surely, some +nunnery more worthy of your rank—’</p> +<p>‘There is none that I should love so well,’ said Esclairmonde, +smiling. ‘Mayhap I have learnt to be a vagabond, but I cannot +but desire to toil as well as pray.’</p> +<p>‘And you are willing to wait for a vacancy?’</p> +<p>‘When once safe from my kinsmen, in England, I will wait under +my kind Alice’s wing till—till it becomes expedient that +yonder gentleman be set free.’</p> +<p>‘You trust him?’ said Bedford.</p> +<p>‘Entirely,’ responded Esclairmonde, heartily.</p> +<p>‘Happy lad!’ half sighed the Duke; but, even as he did +so, he stood up to bid the lady adieu—lingering for a moment more, +to gaze at the face he had longed for permission to love—and thus +take leave of all his youth and joy, addressing himself again to that +burthen of care which in thirteen years laid him in his grave at Rouen.</p> +<p>As he left the Castle and came out into the steep fortified street, +Ralf Percy came up to him, laughing. ‘Here, my lord, are +those two honest Yorkshire knights running all over Calais to make a +petition to you.’</p> +<p>‘What—Trenton and Kitson! I thought their year +of service was up, and they were going home!’</p> +<p>‘Ay, my lord,’ said Kitson, who with his comrade had +followed close in Percy’s wake, ‘we were going home to bid +Mistress Agnes take her choice of us; but this morn we’ve met +a pursuivant that is come with Norroy King-at-arms, and what doth he +but tell us that no sooner were our backs turned, than what doth Mistress +Agnes but wed—ay, wed outright—one Tom of the Lee, a sneaking +rogue that either of us would have beat black and blue, had we ever +seen him utter a word to her? A knight’s lady—not +to say two—as she might have been! So, my lord, we not being +willing to go home and be a laughing-stock, crave your license to be +of your guard as we were of King Harry’s, and show how far we +can go among the French.’</p> +<p>‘And welcome; no good swords can be other than welcome!’ +said Bedford, not diverted as his brother would have been, but with +a heartiness that never failed to win respectful affection.</p> +<p>Long did James and Bedford walk up and down the Castle court together, +while the embarkation was going on. The question weighed on them +both whether they should ever meet more, after eighteen years of youth +spent together.</p> +<p>‘Youth is gone,’ said Bedford. ‘We have been +under a mighty master, and now God help us to do his work.’</p> +<p>‘You!’ said James; ‘but for me—it is like +to be the library and the Round Tower again.’</p> +<p>‘Scarcely,’ said Bedford, ‘the Beauforts will never +rest till Joan is on a throne.’</p> +<p>James smiled.</p> +<p>‘Ay,’ said Bedford, ‘the Bishop of Winchester will +be no small power, you will find. Would that I could throw up +this France and come home, for he and Humfrey will clash for ever. +James, an you love me, see Humfrey alone, and remind him that all the +welfare of Harry’s child may hang on his forbearance—on +union with the Bishop. Tell him, if he ever loved the noblest +brother that ever lived, to rein himself in, and live only for the child’s +good, not his own. Tell him that Bedford and Gloucester must be +nothing henceforth—only heads and hands doing Harry’s will +for his babe. Oh, James, what can you tell Humfrey that will make +him put himself aside?’</p> +<p>‘You have writ to him Harry’s words as to Dame Jac?’</p> +<p>‘The wanton! ay, I have; and if you can whisper in his ear +that matter of Malcolm and the signet, it might lessen his inclination. +But,’ he sighed, ‘I have little hope, James; I see nothing +for Lancaster but that which the old man at York invoked upon us!’</p> +<p>‘Yet, when I look at you and Humfrey, and think of the contrast +with my own father’s brethren, I see nothing but hope and promise +for England,’ said James.</p> +<p>‘We must do our best, however heavy-hearted,’ said John +of Bedford, pausing in his walk, and standing steadfast. ‘The +rod becomes a palm to those who do not freshly bring it on themselves. +May this poor child of Harry’s be bred up so that he may be fit +to meet evil or good!’</p> +<p>‘Poor child,’ repeated James. ‘Were he not +there, and you—’</p> +<p>‘Peace, James,’ said Bedford; ‘it is well that +such a weight is not added! While I act for my nephew, I know +my duty; were it for myself, methinks I should be crazed with doubts +and questions. Well,’ as a messenger came up with tidings +that all was ready, ‘fare thee well, Jamie. In you I lose +the only man with whom I can speak my mind, or take counsel. You’ll +not let me gain a foe, as well as lose a friend, when you get home?’</p> +<p>‘Never, in heart, John!’ said the King. ‘As +to hand—Scotland must be to England what she will have her. +Would that I saw my way thither! Windsor will have lost all that +made captivity well-nigh sweet. And so farewell, dear brother. +I thank you for the granting to me of this sacred charge.’</p> +<p>And so, with hands clasped and wrung together, with tears raining +from James’s eyes, and a dry settled melancholy more sad than +tears on John’s countenance, the two friends parted, never again +to meet; each to run a course true, brave, and short—extinguished +the one in bitter grief, the other in blood.</p> +<p>On All Saints’ Day, while James stood with Humfrey of Gloucester +at the head of the grave at Westminster, where Henry’s earthly +form was laid to rest amid the kings his fathers, amid the wail of a +people as sorrowful as if they knew all the woes that were to ensue, +Bedford was in like manner standing over a grave at the Royal Abbey +of St. Denis. He, the victor’s brother, represented all +the princely kindred of Charles VI. of France, and, with his heart at +Westminster, filled the chief mourner’s place over the king who +had pined to death for his conqueror.</p> +<p>The same infant was proclaimed king over each grave—heir to +France and England, to Valois and Lancaster. Poor child, his real +heirloom was the insanity of the one and the doom of the other! +Well for him that there was within him that holy innocence that made +his life a martyrdom!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI: THE CAGE OPEN</h2> +<p>More than a year had passed, and it was March when Malcolm was descending +the stone stair that leads so picturesquely beneath the archway of its +tower up to the hall of the college of St. Mary Winton, then <i>really</i> +New College. He had been residing there with Dr. Bennet, associating +with the young members of the foundation educated at Winchester, and +studying with all the freshness of a recent institution. It had +been a very happy time for him, within the gray stone walls that pleasantly +recalled Coldingham, though without Coldingham’s defensive aspect, +and with ample food for the mind, which had again returned to its natural +state of inquiring reflection and ardour for knowledge.</p> +<p>Daily Malcolm woke early, attended Matins and Mass in the chapel, +studied grammar and logic, mastered difficult passages in the Fathers, +or copied out portions for himself in the chamber which he as a gentleman +commoner, as we should call him, possessed, instead of living in a common +dormitory with the other scholars. Or in the open cloister he +listened and took notes of the lectures of the fellows and tutors of +the college, and seated on a bench or walking up and down received special +instructions. Then ensued the meal, spread in the hall; the period +of recreation, in the meadows, or in the licensed sports, or on the +river; fresh studies, chapel, and a social but quiet evening over the +supper in the hall. All this was varied by Latin sermons at St. +Mary’s, or disputations and lectures by notable doctors, and public +arguments between scholars, by which they absolutely fought out their +degrees. There were few colleges as yet, and those resident in +them were the <i>élite</i>; beyond, there was a great mob of +scholars living in rooms as they could, generally very poor, and often +very disorderly; but they did not mar the quiet semi-monastic stillness +within the foundations, and to Malcolm it seemed as if the truly congenial +home was opened.</p> +<p>The curriculum of science began to reveal itself to him with all +the stages so inviting to a mind conscious of power and longing for +cultivation. The books, the learned atmosphere, the infinite possibilities, +were delightful to him, and opened a more delightful future. His +metaphysical Scottish mind delighted in the scholastic arguments that +were now first set before him, and his readiness, appreciation, and +eager power of acquiring surprised his teachers, and made him the pride +of New College.</p> +<p>When he looked back at his year of court and camp, he could only +marvel at having ever preferred them. In war his want of bodily +strength would make real distinction impossible; here he felt himself +excelling; here was absolute enjoyment, and of a kind without drawback. +Scholarship must be his true element and study: the deep universal study +of the sisterhood of science that the University offered was his veritable +vocation. Surely it was not without significance that the ring +that shone on his finger betrothed him to Esclairmonde, the Light of +the World; for though in person the maiden was never to be his own, +she was the emblem to him of the pure virgin light of truth and wisdom +that he would be for ever wooing, and winning only to see further lights +beyond. Human nature felt a pang at the knowledge that he was +bound to deliver up the ring and resign his connection with that fair +and stately maiden; but the pain that had been sore at first had diminished +under the sense that he stood in a post of generous trust, and that +his sacrifice was the passport to her grateful esteem. He knew +her to be with Lady Montagu, awaiting a vacancy at St. Katharine’s, +and this would be the signal for dissolving the contract of marriage, +after which his present vision was to bestow Lilias upon Patrick, make +over his estates to them, take minor orders, and set forth for Italy, +there to pursue those deeper studies in theology and language for which +Padua and Bologna were famous. It was many months since he had +heard of Lilias; but this did not give him any great uneasiness, for +messengers were few, and letter-writing far from being a common practice. +He had himself written at every turning-point of his life, and sent +his letters when the King communicated with Scotland; but from his sister +he had heard nothing.</p> +<p>He had lately won his first degree as Bachelor of Arts, and was descending +the stair from the Hall after a Lenten meal on salt fish, when he saw +below him the well-known figure of King James’s English servant, +who doffing his cap held out to him a small strip of folded paper, fastened +by a piece of crimson silk and the royal seal. It only bore the +words:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘<i>To our right trusty and well-beloved Cousin +the Lord Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie this letter be taken</i>.</p> +<p>‘DEAR COUSIN,</p> +<p>‘We greet you well, and pray you to come to us without loss +of time, having need of you, we being a free man and no captive.</p> +<p>‘Yours,<br /> +‘JAMES R.</p> +<p>‘Written at the Castle of Windsor this St. David’s Day, +1424.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘A free man:’ the words kept ringing in Malcolm’s +ears while he hastened to obtain license from Warden John Bonke, and +to take leave of Dr. Bennet. He had not left Oxford since the +beginning of his residence there. Vacations were not general dispersions +when ways and means of transit were so scarce and tardy, and Malcolm +had been long without seeing his king. Joy on his sovereign’s +account, and his country’s, seemed to swallow up all other thoughts; +as to himself, when he bade his friends and masters farewell, he declared +it was merely for a time, and when they shook their heads and augured +otherwise, he replied: ‘Nay, think you I could live in the Cimmerian +darkness yonder, dear sirs? Our poor country hath nothing better +than mere monastery schools, and light of science having once shone +on me, I cannot but dwell in her courts for ever! Soon shall I +be altogether her son and slave!’</p> +<p>Nevertheless, Malcolm was full of eagerness, and pressed on rapidly +through the lanes between Oxford and Windsor, rejoicing to find himself +amid the noble trees of the forest, over which arose in all its grandeur +the Castle and Round Tower, as beautiful though less unique than now, +and bearing on it the royal standard, for the little King was still +nursed there.</p> +<p>Under the vaulted gateway James—with Patrick and Bairdsbrae +behind him—met Malcolm, and threw his arms round him, crying: +‘Ay, kiss me, boy; ’tis a king and no caitiff you kiss now! +Another six weeks, and then for the mountain and the moor and the bonnie +north countree.’</p> +<p>‘And why not for a month?’ was Malcolm’s question, +as hand and eye and face responded heartily.</p> +<p>‘Why? Why, because moneys must be told down, and treaties +signed; ay, and Lent is no time for weddings, nor March for southland +roses to travel to our cold winds. Ay, Malcolm, you see a bridegroom +that is to be! Did you think I was going home without her?’</p> +<p>‘I did not think you would be in such glee even at being free, +my lord, if you were.’</p> +<p>‘And now, Malcolm, ken ye of ony fair Scottish lassie—a +cousin of mine ain, who could be had to countenance my bride at our +wedding, and ride with us thereafter to Scotland?’</p> +<p>‘I know whom your Grace means,’ said Malcolm, smiling.</p> +<p>‘An if you do, maybe, Malcolm, sin she bides not far frae the +border, ye’d do me the favour of riding with Sir Patrick here, +and bringing her to the bridal,’ said the King, making his accent +more home-like and Scottish than Malcolm had ever heard it before.</p> +<p>The happiness of that spring afternoon was surpassing. The +King linked his arm into Malcolm’s, and walked up and down with +him on the slopes, telling him all that had led to this consummation; +how Walter Stewart and his brothers had become so insolent and violent +as to pass the endurance of their father the Regent, as well as of all +honest Scots; and how, after secret negotiations and vain endeavours +to obtain from him a pledge of indemnity for all that had happened, +the matter had been at length opened with Gloucester, Beaufort, and +the Council. The Scottish nation, with Albany at the head, was +really recalling the King. This was the condition on which Henry +V. had always declared that he should be liberated; these were the terms +on which he had always hoped to return; and his patience was at last +rewarded. Bedford had sent his joyful consent, and all was now +concluded. James was really free, and waited only for his marriage.</p> +<p>‘I would not tell you, Malcolm, while there might yet be a +slip between cup and lip,’ said the King; ‘it might have +hindered the humanities; and yet I needed you as much when I was glad +as when all seemed like to fail!’</p> +<p>‘You had Patrick,’ said Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘Patrick’s a tall and trusty fellow,’ said the +King, ‘with a shrewd wit, and like to be a right-hand man; but +there’s something in you, Malcolm, that makes a man turn to you +for fellow-feeling, even as to a wife.’</p> +<p>Nevertheless, the King and Patrick had grown much attached to each +other, though the latter, being no lover of books, had wearied sorely +of the sojourn at Windsor, which the King himself only found endurable +by much study and reflection. Their only variety had been keeping +Christmas at Hertford with Queen Catherine; ‘sorry pastime,’ +as Drummond reported it to him, though gladdened to the King by Joan +Beaufort’s presence, in all her charms.</p> +<p>‘The Demoiselle of Luxemburg was there too, statelier than +ever,’ said James. ‘She is now at Middleham Castle, +with the Lady Montagu, and you might make it your way northward, and +lodge a night there. If you can win her consent, it were well +to be wedded when we are.’</p> +<p>‘Never shall I, my lord. I should not dare even to speak +of it.’</p> +<p>‘It is well; but, Malcolm, you merit something from the damsel. +You are ten times the man you were when she flouted you. If women +were not mostly witless, you would be much to be preferred to any mere +Ajax or Fierabras; and if this damsel should have come to the wiser +mind that it were pity to be buried to the world—’</p> +<p>‘Sir, I pray you say no more. I were forsworn to ask +such a thing.’</p> +<p>‘I bid you not, only I would I were there to see that all be +not lost for want of a word in season; and it is high time that something +be done. Here be letters from my Lord of Thérouenne, demanding +the performance of the contract ere our return home.’</p> +<p>‘He cannot reach her here,’ said Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘No; but his outcry can reach your honour; and it were ill +to have such a house as that of Luxemburg crying out upon you for breach +of faith to their daughter.’</p> +<p>Malcolm smiled. ‘That I should heed little, Sir. +I would fain bear something for her.’</p> +<p>‘Why, this is mere sublimated devoir, too fine for our gross +understandings,’ said James, ironically. ‘Mayhap the +sight of the soft roseate cheek may bring it somewhat down to poor human +flesh and blood once more.’</p> +<p>‘Once I was tempted, Sir,’ said Malcolm, blushing deeply; +‘but did I not know that her holiness is the guardian of her earthly +beauty, I would not see her again.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, there I command you,’ said the King; ‘soon +I shall have subjects enough; but while I have but half a dozen, I cannot +be disobeyed by them! I bid you go to Middleham, and there I leave +all to the sight.’</p> +<p>The King spoke gaily, and with such kind good-humour that Malcolm, +humiliated by the thought of the past, durst not make fresh asseverations. +James, in the supreme moment of the pure and innocent romance of which +he was the hero, looked on love like his own as the highest crown of +human life, and distrusted the efforts after the superhuman which too +often were mere simulation or imitation; but a certain recollection +of Henry’s warnings withheld him from pressing the matter, and +he returned to his own joys and hopes, looking on the struggles he expected +with a strong man’s exulting joy, and not even counting the years +of his captivity wasted, though they had taken away his first youth.</p> +<p>‘What should I have been,’ he said, ‘bred up in +the tumults at home? What could I have known better than Perth? +Nay, had I been sent home when I came to age, as a raw lad, how would +one or other by fraud or force have got the upper hand, so as I might +never have won it back. No, I would not have foregone one year +of study—far less that campaign in France, and the sight of Harry +in war and in policy.’</p> +<p>James also took Malcolm to see the child king, his little master. +This, the third king of James’s captivity, was now a fair creature +of two years old. He trotted to meet his visitor, calling him +by a baby name for brother, and stretching out his arms to be lifted +up and fondled; for, as Dame Alice Boteller, his <i>gouvernante</i>, +muttered, he knew the King of Scots better than he did his own mother.</p> +<p>A retinue had been already collected, and equipments prepared, so +that there was no delay in sending forth Malcolm and Patrick upon their +northward journey. At the nearest town they halted, sending forward +a messenger to announce their neighbourhood to the old Countess of Salisbury +and her grand-daughter Lady Montagu, and to request permission to halt +for ‘Mothering Sunday’ at the Castle.</p> +<p>In return a whole band of squires and retainers came forth, headed +by the knightly seneschal, to invite Lord Malcolm Stewart and his companion +to the Castle; whereupon Sir Patrick proceeded to don his gayest gown +and chaperon, and was greatly scandalized that Malcolm’s preparation +consisted in putting on his black serge bachelor’s gown and hood +of rabbit’s fur such as he wore at Oxford, looking, as Patrick +declared, no better than a begging scholar. But Malcolm had made +up his mind that if he appeared before Esclairmonde at all it should +be in no other guise; and thus it was that he rode like a black spot +in the midst of the cavalcade, bright with the colours of Nevil and +of Montagu, and was marshalled up the broad stairs by the silver wand +of the seneschal.</p> +<p>Lord Montagu had gone back to the wars; so the family at home consisted +of the grand, stately, and distant old Countess of Salisbury, and her +young grand-daughter, the Lady Montagu, with her three months’ +old son. Each had an almost royal suite of well-born dames and +damsels in attendance, among whom the Demoiselle de Luxemburg alone +was on an equality with the mistresses of the house. Even Queen +Catherine’s presence-chamber had hardly equalled the grand baronial +ceremony of the hall, where sat the three ladies in the midst of their +circle of attendants, male and female ranged on opposite sides; and +old Lady Salisbury knew the exact number of paces that it befitted her +and Lady Montagu to advance to receive the royal infusion of blood that +flowed in the veins of my Lord of Glenuskie. And yet it was the +cheek, and not the hand, that were offered in salutation by both ladies, +as well as by Esclairmonde. Malcolm, however, only durst kneel +on one knee and salute her hand, and felt himself burning with crimson +as the touch and voice brought back those longings that, as James had +said, proved him human still. He was almost glad that etiquette +required him to hand the aged Countess to her seat and to devote his +chief attention to her.</p> +<p>Punctilio reigned supreme in such a house as this. Nowhere +had Malcolm seen such observance of ceremony, save in the court of the +Duke of Burgundy, and there it was modified by the presence of rough +and ready warriors; but an ancient dame like Lady Salisbury thought +it both the due and the safeguard of her son’s honour, and exacted +it rigorously of all who approached her.</p> +<p>Alice of Montagu had the sweet fragile look of a young mother about +her, but her frightened fawn air was gone; she was in her home, had +found her place, and held it with a simple dignity of her own, quite +ready to ripen into all the matronly authority, without the severe formality, +of her grand-dame.</p> +<p>She treated Malcolm with a gentle smiling courtesy such as she had +never vouchsafed to him before, and all the shyness that had once made +her silent was gone, when at the supper-table, and afterwards seated +around the fire, the tidings of the camp and court were talked over +with all the zest of those to whom King Harry’s last campaign +was becoming ‘old times’; and what with her husband’s +letters and opinions, little Alice was really the best-informed as to +the present state of things. Esclairmonde took her part in the +conversation, but there was no opportunity of exchanging a private or +personal word between her and Malcolm in a party of five, where one +was as vigilant and grave-eyed as my Lady Salisbury.</p> +<p>However, the next was a peculiar day, the Fourth Sunday in Lent, +called ‘Mothering Sunday’ because on that day it was originally +the custom for offerings to be carried from all the country round to +the cathedral or mother church on that day. This custom had been +modified, but it was still the rule that all the persons, who at other +times worshipped at the nearest monastery chapel or at a private chapel +in their own houses, should on that day repair to their parish church, +and there make a special offering at the Mass—that offering which +has since become the Easter dues. It was a festival Sunday too—‘Refreshing +Sunday’—then, as now, marked by the Gospel on the feeding +of the multitude; and from this, as well as from the name, the pretty +custom had begun of offering the mother of each house her rich simnal +cake, with some other gift from each of her children.</p> +<p>Hearing a pattering of feet in the early morning, Malcolm looked +out and beheld a whole troop of small children popping in and out of +a low archway. If he could have peeped in, he would have known +how many simnals Ladies Esclairmonde and Alice were sending down—with +something more substantial—to be given to mothers by the children +who as yet had nothing to bring of their own.</p> +<p>But when the household assembled in the castle hall, they did see +fair young Lady Montagu kneel at the chair of the grave old Countess, +and hold up a silver dish, wherein lay the simnal, mixed, kneaded, and +moulded by her own hands, and bearing on it a rich ruby clasp, sent +by her father, the Earl, as his special gift to his mother on this Sunday.</p> +<p>And then, when the old lady, with glistening eyes, had spoken her +blessing on the fair young head bent down before her, and the grandchild +rose up, there was the pretty surprise for her of her little swaddled +son, lying in Esclairmonde’s arms, and between the small fingers, +that as yet knew not how to grasp, the tiny simnal; and moreover a fair +pearl devised in like manner by the absent Sir Richard as a gift for +his wife’s first ‘Mothering Sunday.’ There was +no etiquette here to hinder sweet Alice from passionately clasping her +child, and covering him with kisses, as many for his father as for himself, +as she laughed at the baby smiles and helpless gestures of the future +king-maker, whose ambition and turbulence were to be the ruin of that +fair and prosperous household, and bring the gentle Alice to a widowed, +bereaved, and attainted old age.</p> +<p>Well that none there present saw the future, as she proudly claimed +the admiration of Malcolm for her babe!</p> +<p>She was equipped for the expedition to the parish church, as likewise +were Esclairmonde and almost all the rest; but the aged Countess could +not encounter the cold March winds, and had a dispensation; and thus +Alice, being the lady of the procession, contrived at the same time +to call Sir Patrick to her side, and bid Lord Malcolm lead the Lady +Esclairmonde.</p> +<p>For as the weather was dry and cold, Lady Montagu had chosen to go +on foot; and a grand procession it was that she led, of gentlemen and +ladies, two and two, in their bright dresses and adornments that delighted +the eyes of the homely yeomen and their wives, flocking in from their +homesteads with baskets of offerings, often in kind.</p> +<p>Meantime, Malcolm, holding the tips of Esclairmonde’s fingers, +durst not speak till she began: ‘This is a devout and pious household—full +of peace and good government.’</p> +<p>‘And your time goes happily here?’ asked Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘Yes, it has been a peaceful harbour wherein to wait,’ +said Esclairmonde. ‘And even if Alice were called to her +husband in France, my Lady Countess will keep me with her till there +be a vacancy for me at St. Katharine’s.’</p> +<p>‘Have you the promise from Queen Joan?’</p> +<p>‘Yes,’ replied Esclairmonde. ‘The Countess +had been a lady of hers, and wrought with her, so that whenever the +post of bedeswoman is in her gift I shall be preferred to it.’</p> +<p>‘You, the heiress, accept the charity!’ Malcolm could +not help exclaiming.</p> +<p>‘The better for all remnants of pride,’ returned the +lady. ‘And you, my lord, has it fared well with you?’</p> +<p>Malcolm, happy in her interest, poured forth all that he had to tell, +and she listened as Esclairmonde alone could listen. There was +something in her very expression of attention that seemed to make the +speaker take out the alloy and leave only his purest gold to meet her +ears. Malcolm forgot those throbs of foolish wild hope that had +shot across him like demon temptations to hermit saints, and only felt +that the creature of his love and reverence was listening benignly as +he told her of the exceeding delight that he was unravelling in learned +lore; how each step showed him further heights, and how he had come +to view the Light of the World as the light of wisdom, to the research +of which he meant to devote his entire life, among universities and +manuscripts.</p> +<p>‘The Light of Wisdom,’ repeated Esclairmonde—‘so +it may be, for Christ is Heavenly Wisdom; but I doubt me if the Light +of the World lies solely in books and universities.’</p> +<p>‘Nay,’ said Malcolm. ‘Once I was fool enough +to fancy it was the light of glory, calling knights to deeds of fame +and chivalry. I have seen mine error now, and—oh, lady, +what mean you? where should that light be, save in the writings of wise +and holy men?’</p> +<p>‘Methinks,’ said Esclairmonde, ‘that the light +is there, even as the light is also before the eyes of the true knight; +but it is not only there.’</p> +<p>‘Where is it then?’ said Malcolm. ‘In helmet +or in cowl, I am the sworn champion of the Light of the World.’</p> +<p>‘The Light,’ said Esclairmonde, looking upwards, ‘the +true Light of the World is the Blessed Saviour, the Heavenly Wisdom +of God; and His champions find Him and serve Him in camp, cloister, +or school, or wherever He has marked their path, so as they seek not +their own profit or glory, and lay not up their treasure for themselves +on earth.’</p> +<p>‘Then surely,’ said Malcolm, ‘the hoards of deep +study within the mind are treasures beyond the earth.’</p> +<p>‘Your schoolmen speak of spirit, mind, and body,’ said +Esclairmonde—‘at least so I, an ignorant woman, have been +told. Should not the true Light for eternity lighten the spirit +rather than the mind?’</p> +<p>Malcolm pondered and said: ‘I thought I had found the right +path at last!’</p> +<p>‘Nay—never, never did I say otherwise,’ cried Esclairmonde. +‘To seek God’s Light in good men’s words, and pursue +it, must be a blessed task. Every task must be blessed to which +He leads. And when you are enlightened with that light, you will +hold it up to others. When you have found the treasure, you will +scatter it here, and so lay it up above.’</p> +<p>Esclairmonde’s words were almost a riddle to Malcolm, but his +reverence for her made him lay them up deeply, as he watched her kneeling +at the Mass, her upturned face beaming with an angelic expression.</p> +<p>His mind was much calmed by this meeting. It had had an absolutely +contrary effect to what King James had expected, by spiritualizing his +love, and increasing that reverence which cast out its earthliness. +That first throb which had been so keen at meeting, and knowing her +not for him, had passed away in the refining of that distant worship +he had paid her in those days of innocence.</p> +<p>Lady Montagu was quite satisfied with him now. He was the Malcolm +of her first acquaintance, only without his foolish diffidence, and +with a weight and earnestness that made him a man and not a boy; and +she cordially invited him to bring his sister with him, and rest, on +the way southward. He agreed most thankfully, since this would +be the only opportunity of showing Esclairmonde and Lilias one to the +other, as well as one of his own few chances of seeing Esclairmonde.</p> +<p>Once they must meet, that their promises might be restored the one +to the other; but as the betrothal remained the lady’s security, +this could not be done till she became pledged at St. Katharine’s. +When the opportunity came, she was to send Malcolm a messenger, and +he would come to her at once. Until then he promised that he would +not leave Great Britain.</p> +<p>On Monday the cousins proceeded, coming after a time to the route +by which Malcolm had ridden three years before, and where he was now +at home in comparison with Patrick. How redolent it was with recollections +of King Harry, in all his gaiety and grace, ere the shock of his brother’s +death had fallen on him! At Thirsk, Malcolm told of the prowess +and the knighthood of honest Trenton and Kitson, to somewhat incredulous +ears. The two squires had been held as clownish fellows, and the +sentiment of the country was that Mistress Agnes was well quit of them, +and the rough guardianship by which they had kept off all other suitors. +As mine host concluded, ‘’Tis a fine thing to go to the +wars.’</p> +<p>Hearing that Kitson’s mother lived not a mile out of his way, +Malcolm rode to the fine old moated grange, where he found her sitting +at her spinning, presiding over a great plentiful household, while her +second son, a much shrewder-looking man than Sir Christopher, managed +the farm.</p> +<p>The travellers were welcomed with eager hospitality so soon as it +was understood that they brought tidings of ‘our Kit’; and +Malcolm’s story was listened to with tears of joy by the old lady, +while the brother could not get over his amazement at hearing that Trenton +and Kitson had become a proverb in the camp for oneness in friendship.</p> +<p>‘Made it up with Will Trenton! And never fought it out! +I’d never know our Kit again after that!’</p> +<p>His steady bravery, his knighthood, and the King’s praise, +his having assisted in saving Lord Glenuskie’s life against such +odds, did not seem to strike Wilfred Kitson half as much as the friendship +with Trenton, and Malcolm did not think the regret was very great at +the two knights having given up their intention of returning. +‘Our Kit’s’ place seemed to have closed up behind +him; Wilfred seemed to be too much master to be ready to give up to +the elder brother; and even the mother had learnt to do without him. +‘I’ll warrant,’ quoth she, ‘that now he is a +knight and got used to fine French ways, he’ll think nothing good +enow for him. And if he brought Will Trenton with him, I’d +not sit at the board with the fellow.—But ye’ll ride over, +Wilfred, and take care the minx Agnes knows what she’s lost. +Ay, and if you knew of a safe hand, Sir, when the shearing is over I’d +send the lad a purse of nobles to keep up his knighthood in the camp, +forsooth.’</p> +<p>‘Certes,’ said Malcolm, as after a salt-fish dinner he +mounted again, ‘if honest Kitson knew, he would scarce turn back +from the camp, where he is somebody. Shall we find ourselves as +little wanted when we get home, Patie?’</p> +<p>Patrick drew himself up with a happy face of secret assurance. +Nothing could make Lilias forsake him, he well knew.</p> +<p>At Durham they found their good friend Father Akefield, erst Prior +of Coldingham, but who had been violently dispossessed by the House +of Albany in favour of their candidate, Drax, about a year before, and +was thankful to have been allowed with a few English monks to retire +across the Border to the mother Abbey at Durham.</p> +<p>The good father could hardly believe his eyes when he beheld Malcolm, +now a comely and personable young gentleman, less handsome and graceful +indeed than many, but with all his painful personal peculiarities gone, +with none of the scared, imploring look, but with a grave thoughtful +earnestness about his face, as though all that once was timid and wandering +was now fixed and steadfast.</p> +<p>Father Akefield could tell nothing of Lilias since his own expulsion, +but as the Prioress of St. Abbs was herself a Drummond, and no one durst +interfere with her, he had no alarms for her safety. But he advised +the two gentlemen to go straight to St. Abbs, without showing themselves +at Coldingham, lest Prior Drax, being in the Albany interest, should +make any demur at giving her up to the care of the brother, who still +wanted some months of his twenty-first year.</p> +<p>Accordingly they pushed on, and in due time slept at Berwick, receiving +civilities from the English governor that chafed Patrick’s blood, +which became inflammable as soon as he neared the Border; and rising +early the next morning, they passed the gates, and were on Scottish +ground once more, their hearts bounding at the sense that it was their +own land, and would soon be no more a land of misrule. With their +knowledge of King James and his intentions, well might they have unlimited +hopes for the country over which he was about to reign.</p> +<p>They turned aside from Coldingham, and made for the sea, and at length +the promontory of St. Abbs Head rose before them; they passed through +the outer buildings intended as shelter for the attendants of ladies +coming to the nunnery, and knocked at the gateway.</p> +<p>A wicket in the door was opened, and the portress looked out through +a grating.</p> +<p>‘<i>Benedicite</i>, good Sister,’ said Malcolm. +‘Prithee tell the Mother Abbess that Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie +is here from the King, and craves to speak with her and the Lady Lilias.’</p> +<p>‘Lord Malcolm! Lady Lilias! St. Ebba’s good +mercy!’ shrieked the affrighted portress. They heard her +rushing headlong across the court, and looked on one another in consternation.</p> +<p>Patrick betook himself to knocking as if he would beat down the door, +and Malcolm leant against it with a foreboding that took away his breath—dreading +the moment when it should be opened.</p> +<p>The portress and her keys returned again, and parleyed a moment. +‘You are the Lord Malcolm in very deed—in the flesh?’</p> +<p>‘Wherefore not?’ demanded Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘Nay, but we heard ye were slain, my lord,’ explained +the portress—letting him in, however, and leading them across +the court, to where the Mother Abbess, Annabel Drummond, awaited them +in the parlour.</p> +<p>‘Alas, Sirs, what grievous error has this been?’ was +her exclamation; while Malcolm, scarcely waiting for salutation, demanded, +‘Where is my sister?’</p> +<p>‘How? In St. Hilda’s keeping at Whitby, whither +the King sent for her,’ said the Abbess.</p> +<p>‘The King!’ cried Malcolm, ‘we come from the King! +Oh, what treachery has been here?’</p> +<p>‘And you, Lord Malcolm—and you, my kinsman, Sir Patrick +of the Braes, how do I see you here? We had heard you both were +dead.’</p> +<p>‘You heard a lying tale then, good Mother,’ said Patrick, +gruffly, ‘no doubt devised for the misery of the—of my—’ +He could not finish the sentence, and Malcolm entreated the Abbess to +tell the whole.</p> +<p>It appeared that about a year previously the chaplain of the monastery +had learnt at Coldingham that Sir John Swinton of Swinton had sent home +tidings that Patrick Drummond had been thrown from his horse and left +behind in a village which the English had harried, and as he could not +move, he was sure to have been either burnt or hung. This conclusion +was natural, and argued no malice in the reporter; and while poor Lilias +was still in her first agony of grief, Prior Drax sent over intelligence +derived from the Duke of Albany himself that Malcolm Stewart of Glenuskie +had been stabbed in the forest of Vincennes. This report Malcolm +himself accounted for. He had heard a Scots tongue among his foes, +though national feeling had made him utterly silent on that head to +the Duke of Bedford, and he guessed it to belong to a certain M’Kay, +whose clan regarded themselves as at feud with the Stewarts, and of +whom he had heard as living a wild <i>routier</i> life. He had +probably been hired by Ghisbert for the attack, and had returned home +and spread the report of its success.</p> +<p>Some few weeks later, the Abbess Annabel continued, there had arrived +two monks from Coldingham, with an escort, declaring themselves to have +received orders from King James to transport the Lady Lilias to the +nunnery at Whitby, where the Abbess had promised to receive her, till +he could determine her fate.</p> +<p>The forlorn and desolate Lilias, believing herself to stand alone +in the world, was very loth to quit her shelter and her friends at St. +Abbs; but the Abbess, doubting her own ability to protect her from the +rapacious grasp of Walter Stewart, now that she had, as she believed, +become an heiress, and glad to avert from her house the persecution +that such protection would bring upon it, had gratefully heard of this +act of consideration on the King’s part, and expedited her departure. +The two monks, Simon Bell and Ringan Johnstone, had not returned to +the monastery, but had been thought to be in the parent house at Durham; +but Malcolm, who knew Brother Simon by sight, was clear that he had +not seen him there.</p> +<p>All this had taken place a year ago, and there could be no doubt +that some treachery had been exercised. Nothing had since been +heard of Lilias; none of Malcolm’s letters had reached St. Abbs, +having doubtless been suppressed by the Prior of Coldingham; and all +that was certain was that Walter Stewart, to whom their first suspicions +directed themselves, had not publicly avouched any marriage with Lilias +or claimed the Glenuskie estates, or the King, who had of late been +in close correspondence with Scotland, must have heard of it. +And it was also hardly possible that the Regent Murdoch and his sons, +though they might for a few weeks have been misled by M’Kay’s +report, should not have soon become aware of Malcolm’s existence.</p> +<p>Unless, then, Walter had married her ‘on the first brash,’ +as Patrick called it, he might not have thought her a prize worth the +winning; but the whole aspect of affairs had become most alarming, and +Malcolm turned pale as death at the thought that his sister might be +suffering retribution for the sin he had contemplated.</p> +<p>The danger was terrible! He could not imagine Lilias to have +the moral grandeur and force of Esclairmonde. Moreover, she supposed +her lover dead, and had not the same motive for guarding her troth. +Forlorn and despairing, she might have yielded, and Walter Stewart was, +Malcolm verily believed, worse to deal with than even Boëmond. +As the whole danger and uncertainty came over him, his senses seemed +to reel; he leant back in his seat, and heard as in the midst of a dream +his sister’s sobs and groans, Patrick’s fierce and furious +exclamations, and the Abbess’s attempts at consoling him. +Dizzy with horror at the scene he realized, Lilias’s cries and +shrieks of entreaty were ringing in his ear, when suddenly a sweet full +low voice seemed to come through them, ‘I am bound ever to pray +for you and your sister.’ Mingled with the cry came ever +the sweet soft Litany cadences—‘For all that are desolate +and oppressed: we beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord.’ Gradually +the cries seemed to be swallowed up, both voices blended in <i>Kyrie +eleison</i> and then in the <i>Gloria</i>, and at that moment he became +aware of Patrick crying, ‘I will seek her in every castle in Scotland.’</p> +<p>‘Stay, Patrick,’ he said, rising, though forced to hold +by his chair; ‘that must be my part.’</p> +<p>‘You—why, the laddie is white as a sheet! He well-nigh +swooned at the tidings. You seek her, forsooth!’ and Patrick +laughed bitterly.</p> +<p>‘Yes, Patie,’ said Malcolm, ‘for this I am strong. +It is my duty and not yours, and God will strengthen me for it.’</p> +<p>Patrick burst out at this: ‘Neither man nor devil shall tell +me it is not mine!’</p> +<p>‘You are the King’s prisoner still,’ said Malcolm, +rising to energy; ‘you are bound to return to him. The tidings +must be taken to him at once.’</p> +<p>‘A groom could do that.’</p> +<p>‘Neither so swiftly nor surely as you. Moreover, your +word of honour binds you not to wander at your own pleasure.’</p> +<p>‘My honour binds me not to trust you—wee Malcolm—to +wander into the wolf’s cage alone.’</p> +<p>‘I am not the silly feckless callant I once was, Patie,’ +answered Malcolm. ‘There are many places where my student’s +serge gown will take me safely, where your corslet and lance would never +find entrance. No one will know me again as I am now: will they, +holy Mother?’</p> +<p>‘Assuredly not,’ said the Abbess.</p> +<p>‘A student is too mean a prey to be meddled with,’ proceeded +Malcolm, ‘and is sure of hospitality in castle or convent. +I can try at Coldingham to find out whither the two monks are gone, +and then follow up the track.’</p> +<p>Patrick stormed at the plan, and was most unwilling it should be +adopted. He at least must follow, and keep watch over his young +cousin, or it would be a mere throwing the helve after the hatchet—a +betrayal of his trust.</p> +<p>But a little reflection convinced him that thus to follow would only +bring suspicion on Malcolm and defeat his plans; and that it were better +to obtain some certain information ere the King should come home, and +have to interfere with a high hand; and Malcolm’s arguments about +his obligations as a captive, too, had their effect. He perceived +his own incapacity to act; and in his despair at nothing being done +consented to risk Malcolm in the search, while he himself should proceed +to the King, only ascertaining on the way that Lilias was not at Whitby. +And so, in grief and anxiety, the cousins parted, and Malcolm alone +durst speak a word of hope.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII: THE BEGGING SCHOLAR</h2> +<p>‘The poor scholar,’ now only existing in Ireland and +Brittany—nay, we believe extinct there since the schoolmaster +has become not abroad, but at home, in Government colleges—was +to be found throughout the commonwealth of Europe in the Middle Ages. +Young lads, in whom convent schools had developed a thirst for learning, +could only gratify it by making their way to some university, where +between begging, singing, teaching, receiving doles, earning rewards +in encounters of wit and learning, doing menial services and using all +manner of shifts, they contrived to live a hard life, half savage on +the one side, highly intellectual upon the other. They would suck +the marrow of one university, and then migrate to another; and the rank +they had gained in the first was available in the second, so that it +was no means uncommon for them to bring away degrees from half the universities +in Europe, all of which formed one general system—all were like +islands of one country, whose common language was queer Latin, and whose +terms, manners, and customs were alike in all main points.</p> +<p>Scotland contributed many of her sons to this curious race of vagabond +students, when she herself was without any university to satisfy the +cravings of her thoughtful and intellectual people. ‘No +country without a Scot or a flea’ was an uncomplimentary proverb +due to the numerous young clerks, equally fierce for frays and for lectures, +who flocked to the seats of learning on the Continent, and sometimes +became naturalized there, sometimes came home again, to fight their +way to the higher benefices of the Church, or to become councillors +of state.</p> +<p>It was true that Malcolm was an Oxford scholar, or rather bachelor, +and that Oxford and Cambridge were almost the only universities where +Scots were not—their place being taken by multitudinous Irish; +yet not only were all universities alike in essentials, but he had seen +and heard enough of that at Paris to be able to personate a clerk from +thence.</p> +<p>It was no small plunge for one hitherto watched, tended, and guarded +as Malcolm had been, to set forth entirely alone; but as he had approached +manhood, and strengthened in body, his spirit had gained much in courage, +and the anxiety about his sister swallowed up all other considerations. +Even while he entreated the prayers of the Abbess, he felt quite sure +that he had those of Esclairmonde; and when he had hunted out of his +mails the plain bachelor’s rabbit-skin hood and black gown—which, +perhaps, was a little too fine in texture for the poor wanderer—and +fastened on his back, with a leathern thong, a package containing a +few books and a change of linen, his pale and intellectual face made +him look so entirely the young clerk, that Patrick hardly believed it +was Malcolm.</p> +<p>And when the roads parted, and Drummond and his escort had to turn +towards Berwick, while Malcolm took the path to the monastery, it was +the younger who was the stronger and more resolute of the two; for Patrick +could neither reconcile himself to peril the boy, who had always been +his anxious trust, nor to return to the King without him; and yet no +one who loved Lilias could withhold him from his quest.</p> +<p>Malcolm did not immediately speed to the monastery on taking leave +of Patrick. He stood first to watch the armour flashes gradually +die away, and the little troop grow smaller to his eye, across the brown +moor, till they were entirely out of sight, and he himself left alone. +Then he knelt by a bush of gorse, told his beads, and earnestly entreated +direction and aid for himself, and protection for his sister; and when +the sun grew so low as to make it time for a wanderer to seek harbour, +he stained and daggled his gown in the mire and water of a peat-moss, +so as to destroy its Oxford gloss, took a book in his hand, and walked +towards the monastery, reciting Latin verses in the sing-song tone then +universally followed.</p> +<p>As he came among the fields, he saw that the peasants, and lay brethren +who had been working among them, were returning, some from sowing, others +from herding the cattle, which they drove before them to the byre within +the protecting wall of the monastery.</p> +<p>A monk—with a weather-beaten face and athletic figure, much +like a farmer’s of the present day—overtook him, and hailed +him with ‘<i>Benedicite</i>, you there and welcome to your clerkship! +Are you coming for supper and bed in the convent?’</p> +<p>Malcolm knew good-natured Brother Nicolas, and kept his hood well +over his face after the first salutation; though he felt confident that +Lord Malcolm could hardly be recognized in the begging scholar, as he +made reply, ‘<i>Salve, reverende frater. Venio de Lutetiâ +Parisiorum</i>.’ <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a></p> +<p>‘Whisht with your Latin, laddie,’ said the brother. +‘Speak out, if you’ve a Scots tongue in your head, and have +not left it in foreign parts.’</p> +<p>‘For bed and board, holy father, I shall be most thankful,’ +replied Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘That’s more like it,’ said the brother, who acted +as a kind of farming steward, and was a hearty, good-natured gossip. +‘An’ what’s the name of ye?’</p> +<p>He gave his real Christian name; and added that he came from Glenuskie, +where the good Tutor of Glenuskie had been kind enough to notice him.</p> +<p>‘Ay,’ said Brother Nicolas, ‘he was a guid man +to all towardly youths. He died in this house, more’s the +pity.’</p> +<p>‘Yea, Sir—so I heard say,’ returned Malcolm. +‘He was a good friend to me!’ he added, to cover his heavy +sigh. ‘And, Sir, how went it with the young laird and leddy?’</p> +<p>‘For the young laird—a feckless, ugsome, sickly wean +he was, puir laddie—a knight cam by, an’ behoved to take +him to the King. Nay, but if you’ve been at Parish—if +that’s what ye mean with your Lutetia—ye’ll have seen +him an’ the King.’</p> +<p>‘I saw the King,’ answered Malcolm; ‘but among +the Englishry.’</p> +<p>‘A sorry sight enow!’ said the monk; ‘but he’ll +soon find his Scots heart again; and here we’ve got rid of the +English leaven from the house, and be all sound and leal Scots here.’</p> +<p>‘And the lady?’ Malcolm ventured to ask. ‘She +had a winsome face.’</p> +<p>‘Ho! ho! what have young clerks to do wi’ winsome faces?’ +laughed the Benedictine.</p> +<p>‘She was good to me,’ Malcolm could truly say.</p> +<p>‘They had her in St. Abbs yonder,’ said the monk.</p> +<p>‘Is she there?’ asked Malcolm. ‘I would pay +my duty and thanks to her.’</p> +<p>‘Now—there I cannot say,’ replied Brother Nicolas. +‘My good Mother Abbess and our Prior are not the friends they +were in Prior Akefield’s time; and there’s less coming and +going between the houses. There was a noise that Lord Malcolm +had been slain, and I did hear that, thereupon, she had been claimed +as a ward of the Crown. But I cannot say. If ye gang to +St. Abbs the morn, ye may hear if she be there—and at any rate +get the dole.’</p> +<p>It was clear that the good brother knew no more, and Malcolm could +only thank him for his condescension, and follow among the herdsmen +into the well-known monastery court.</p> +<p>Here he availed himself of his avowed connection with Glenuskie, +to beg to be shown good old Sir David Drummond’s grave. +A flat gray stone in the porch was pointed out to him; and beside this +he knelt, until the monks flocked in for prayers—which were but +carelessly and hurriedly sung; and then followed supper. It was +all so natural to him, that it was with an effort that he recalled that +his place was not at the high table, as Lord Malcolm Stewart, but that +Malcolm, the nameless begging scholar, must be trencher-fellow with +the servants and lay brethren. He was the less concerned, that +here there was less danger of recognition, and more freedom of conversation.</p> +<p>Things were evidently much altered. A novice was indeed, as +usual, placed aloft in the refectory pulpit, to read aloud to the brethren +during their repast, but no one seemed to think it needful to preserve +the decorous silence that had been rigidly exacted during Prior Akefield’s +time, and there was a continual buzz of conversation. Lent though +it was, the fish was of the most esteemed kinds, and it was evident +that, like the monks of Melrose, they ‘made gude kale.’ +Few of the kindly old faces that Malcolm remembered were to be seen +under their cowls. Prior Drax himself had much more the countenance +of a moss-trooper than of a monk—mayhap he was then meditating +that which he afterwards carried out successfully, <i>i.e</i>. the capture +and appropriation of a whole instalment of King James’s ransom, +on its way across the Border; and there was a rude recklessness and +self-indulgence about the looks, voices, and manners of the brethren +he had brought with him, such as made Malcolm feel that if he had had +his wish, and remained at Coldingham, he should soon have found it no +haven of peace.</p> +<p>The lay-brothers and old servants were fixtures, but the old faithful +and devout ones looked forlorn and unhappy and there had been a great +importation of the ruffianly men-at-arms, whom the more pugnacious ecclesiastics, +as well as nobles, of Scotland, were apt to maintain. Guards there +had been in old times, but kept under strict discipline; whereas, in +the rude conduct of these men, there was no sign that they knew themselves +to be in a religious house. Malcolm, keeping aloof from these +as much as might be, gave such an account of himself as was most consistent +with truth, since it was necessary to account for his returning so young +from his studies. He had, he said, been told that there was an +inheritance fallen due to him, and that the kinsman, in whose charge +his sister had been left, was dead; and he had come home to seek her +out, and inquire into the matter of his heirship.</p> +<p>Rude jokes, from some of the new denizens of the monastery, were +spent on the improbability of his finding sister or lands; if it were +in the Barony of Glenuskie, the House of Albany had taken the administration +of that into their own hands.</p> +<p>‘Nay—but,’ said Malcolm, ‘could I but see +my young Lady Lilias, she might make suit for me.’</p> +<p>The gray-headed lay-brother, to whom he addressed himself, replied +that it was little the Lady Lilias could do, but directed him to St. +Abbs to find her; whereat one of the men-at-arms burst out laughing, +and crying, ‘That’s a’ that ye ken, auld Davie! +As though the Master of Albany would let a bonnie lassie ware hersel’ +and her tocher on stone walls and dour old nuns.’</p> +<p>‘Has she wedded the Master of Albany, then?’ asked Malcolm, +concealing his anxiety as best he might.</p> +<p>‘That’s as he pleases; and by my troth he took pains +enow to get her!’</p> +<p>‘What pains?’</p> +<p>‘Why, once she slipped out of his very fingers; that time that +he had laid hands on her, and the hirpling doited brother of hers cam +down with a strange knight, put her into St. Abbs, and made off for +England—so they said. Some of the rogues would have it ’twas +St. Andrew in bodily shape, and that he tirled the young laird, as was +only fit for a saint, aff to heaven wi’ him; for he was no more +seen in these parts.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, that couldna be,’ put in another soldier. +‘Sandy M’Kay took his aith that he was in the English camp—more +shame till him—an’ was stickit dead for meddling between +King Harry’s brother and his luve. It sorted him weel, I +say.’</p> +<p>‘Aweel!’ continued the first; ‘gane is he, and +sma’ loss wi’ him! An’ yon old beldame over +at St. Abbs, she kens weel how to keep a lass wi’ a tocher—so +what does the Master but sends a letter ower to our Prior, bidding him +send two trusty brethren, as though from the King, to conduct her to +Whitby?’</p> +<p>‘Ha!’ said Malcolm; ‘but that’s ower the +Border.’</p> +<p>‘Even so; but the Glenuskies are all English at heart, and +it sicker trained away the silly lassie.’</p> +<p>‘And then?’—the other man-at-arms laughed.</p> +<p>‘Why, at the first hostelry, ye can guess what sort of nuns +were ready to meet her! I promise ye she skirled, and ca’ed +Heaven and earth to help; but Brother Simon and Brother Ringan gave +their word they’d see nae ill dune to her, and she rade with them +on each side of her, and us tall fellows behind and before, till we +cam to Doune.’</p> +<p>‘And what became of her, the poor lassie, then?’ inquired +Malcolm, steadying his voice with much effort.</p> +<p>‘Ye maun ask the Master that,’ said the soldier. +‘I ken nae mair; I was sent on anither little errand of the Earl +of Fife into the Highlands, and only cam back hither a week syne, to +watch the Border.’</p> +<p>‘Had it been St. Andrew that saved her before, he wad hae come +again,’ pondered the lay-brother. ‘He’d hardly +hae given her up.’</p> +<p>‘Weel, I heard the lassie cry on the Master to mind the aith +he had made the former time; an’ though he tried to laugh her +to scorn, his eyes grew wild, and there were some that tell’d +me they lookit to see that glittering awsome knight among them again! +My certie, they maun hae been feared enow the time he did come.’</p> +<p>Malcolm had now had his fears and suspicions so far confirmed, that +he perceived what his course should next be. Strange to say, in +spite of the horror of knowing his sister to have been a whole year +in Walter Stewart’s power, he was neither hopeless nor disheartened. +Lilias seemed to have kept her persecutor at bay once, and she might +have done so again—if only by the appeal to the mysterious relic, +on which his oath to abstain from violence had been sworn. And +confidence in Esclairmonde’s prayers continued to buoy him up, +as he recited his own, and formed his designs for ascertaining whether +she were to be found at Doune—either as wife, or as captive, to +Walter, Earl of Fife and heir of Albany.</p> +<p>So soon as the doors of Coldingham Priory were opened, he was on +his way northward. It was a sore and trying journey, in the bitter +March weather, for one so little used to hardship. He did not +fail in obtaining shelter or food; his garb was everywhere a passport; +but he grew weary and footsore, and his anxiety greatly increased when +he found that fatigue was bringing back the lameness, which greatly +enhanced the likelihood of his being recognized. Kind monks, and +friendly gude-wives, hospitably persuaded the worn student to remain +and rest, till his blistered feet were whole; but he pressed on whenever +he found it possible to travel, and after the first week found his progress +less tardy and painful.</p> +<p>Resting at Edinburgh for Passion-tide and Easter Day, he found that +the Regent Albany himself, with all his family, were at Doune, and he +accordingly made his way thither; rejoicing that he had had some little +time to perfect himself in his part, before rehearsing it to the persons +most likely to detect his disguise.</p> +<p>Along the banks and braes of bonny Doune he slowly moved, with weary +limbs; looking up to the huge pile of the majestic castle in sickening +of heart at the doubt that was about to become a certainty, and that +involved the happiness or the absolute misery of his sister’s +life. Nay, he would almost have preferred to find that she had +perished in her resistance, rather than have become wife to such a man +as Walter Stewart.</p> +<p>The Duke of Albany, as representing majesty, kept up all the state +that Scottish majesty was capable of, in its impoverished irregular +state. Hosts of rough lawless warriors, men-at-arms, squires and +knights, lived at free quarters, in a sort of rude plenty, in and about +the Castle; eating and drinking at the Regent’s expense, sleeping +where they could, in hall or stable, and for clothing and armour trusting +to ‘spulzie’; always ready for violence, without much caring +on whom exercised—otherwise hunting, or lounging, or swelling +their master’s disorderly train.</p> +<p>This retinue was almost at its largest at this time, being swelled +by the following of the two younger sons of Murdoch, Robert and Alexander; +and the courts of the Castle were filled with rude, savage-looking men, +some few grooming horses, others with nothing to do but to shout forth +their jeers at the pale, black-gowned student, who timidly limped into +their lair.</p> +<p>Timidly—yes; for the awful chances heavily oppressed him; and +the horrible scurrility and savagery that greeted him on all sides made +his heart faint at the thought of his Lily in this cage of foul animals. +He did not fear for himself, and never paused until a shouting circle +of idle ruffians set themselves full in his way, to badger and bait +the poor scholar with taunts and insults—hemming him in, bawling +out ribald mirth, as a pack of hounds fall on some stray dog, or, as +Malcolm thought, in a moment half of sick horror, half of resolute resignation, +like wild cattle—fat bulls of Bashan closing in on every side. +So horrible a moment of distress he had never known; but suddenly, as +he stood summoning all his strength, panting with dismay, inwardly praying, +and trying to close his ears and commend himself to One who knew what +mockery is, there was an opening of the crowd, a youth darted down among +them, with a loud cry of ‘Shame! Out on you! A poor +scholar!’ and taking Malcolm’s hand, led him forward; while +a laugh of mockery rose in the distance—‘Like to like.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, my friend and brother, I am Baccalaureus, even as you +are,’ eagerly said the young gentleman, in whom Malcolm, somewhat +to his alarm, recognized his cousin, James Kennedy, the King’s +nephew, a real Parisian ‘<i>bejanus</i>,’ or <i>bec jaune</i>, +<a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a> when they last +had met in the Hôtel de St. Pol; and thus not only qualified to +confute and expose him, should he show any ignorance of details, but +also much more likely to know him than those who had not seen him for +many months before he had left Scotland.</p> +<p>But James Kennedy asked no questions, only said kindly, in the Latin +that was always spoken in the University, ‘Pray pardon us! +<i>Mores Hyperboreis desunt</i>. <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a> +The Regent would be grieved, if he knew how these <i>scelerati</i> <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a> +have sorted you. Come, rest and wash—it will soon be supper-time.’</p> +<p>He took Malcolm to an inner court, filled for him a cup of ale, for +his immediate refreshment, and led him to a spout of clear water, in +the side of the rock on which the Castle stood; where a stone basin +afforded the only facilities for washing that the greater part of the +inhabitants of the Castle expected, and, in effect, more than they commonly +used. Malcolm, however, was heartily glad of the refreshment of +removing the dust from his weary face and feet—and heartily thanked +his protector, in the same dog-Latin. Kennedy waited for him, +and as a great bell began to ring, said ‘<i>Pro cænâ</i>,’ +<a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a> and conducted him +towards the great hall while Malcolm felt much impelled to make himself +known, but was conscious that he had not so comported himself towards +his cousin at Paris as to deserve much favour from him.</p> +<p>A high table was spread in the hall, with the usual appliances befitting +princes and nobles. The other tables, below the dais, were of +the rudest description, and stained with accumulations of grease and +ale; and no wonder, since trenchers were not, and each man hacked a +gobbet for himself from the huge pieces of beef carried round on spits—nor +would the guests have had any objection, during a campaign, to cook +the meat in the fashion described by Froissart, between themselves and +the saddle. These were the squirearchy; Malcolm’s late persecutors +did not aspire to the benches around these boards, or only at second +hand, and for the most part had no seat but the unclean straw and rushes +that strewed the floor.</p> +<p>As James Kennedy entered the hall with Malcolm, there came from another +door, marshalled by the seneschal in full feudal state, the Regent Duke +of Albany himself, his wife, a daughter or two, two sons—and Malcolm +saw, with beating heart, Lilias herself, pale worn, sorrowful-looking, +grievously altered, but still his own Lily. Others followed, chiefly +knights and attendants, but Malcolm saw no one but Lily. She took +her place dejectedly, and never raised her eyes towards him, even when, +on the Regent’s question, ‘What have ye there, Jamie?’ +Kennedy stood forth and answered that it was a scholar, a student, for +whom he asked the hospitality of his kinsman.</p> +<p>‘He is welcome,’ said the Regent, a man of easy good-nature, +whose chief misfortune was, that being of weak nature, he came between +a wicked father and wickeder sons. He was a handsome man, with +much of the stately appearance of King James himself, and the same complexion; +but it was that sort of likeness which was almost provoking, by seeming +to detract from the majesty of the lineaments themselves, as seen in +him who alone knew how to make them a mask for a great soul. His +two sons, Robert and Alexander, laughed as they saw Kennedy’s +companion, and called out, ‘So that’s the brotherhood of +learning, is it, Jamie?—forgathering with any beggar in the street!’</p> +<p>‘Yea,’ said Kennedy, nothing daunted, ‘and finding +him much better mannered than you!’</p> +<p>‘Ay!’ sighed Murdoch, feebly; ‘when I grew up, +it was at the Castles of Perth and Doune that we looked for the best +manners. Now—’</p> +<p>‘We leave them to the lick-platters that have to live by them,’ +said Alexander, rudely.</p> +<p>Kennedy, meanwhile, gave the young scholar in charge to a gray-headed +retainer, who seemed one of the few who had any remains of good-breeding; +and then offered to say Grace—he being the nearest approach to +an ecclesiastic present—as the chaplain was gone to an Easter +festivity at his Abbey. Malcolm thus obtained a seat at the second +table, and a tolerable share of supper; but he could hardly eat, from +intense anxiety, and scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry that +he was out of sight of Lily.</p> +<p>By and by, a moment’s lull of the universal din enabled Malcolm +to hear the Regent saying, ‘Verily, there is a look of gentle +nurture about the lad. Look you, James, when the tables are drawn, +you shall hold a disputation with him. It will be sport to hear +how you chop logic at your Universities yonder.’</p> +<p>Malcolm’s spirit sank. Such disputations were perfectly +ordinary work at both Oxford and Paris, and, usually, he was quite capable +of sustaining his part in them; but his heart was so full, his mind +so anxious, his condition so dangerous, that he felt as if he could +by no means rally that alertness of argument, and readiness of quotation, +that were requisite even in the merest tyro. However, he made +a great effort. He secretly invoked the Light of Wisdom; tried +to think himself back into the aisles of St. Mary’s Church, and +to call up the key-notes of some of the stock arguments; hoping that, +if the selection of the subject were left to Kennedy, he would hit on +one of those most familiar at Oxford.</p> +<p>The supper was ended, the tables were removed, and the challenge +took place. Duke Murdoch, leaning back in his high chair by the +peat-fire, while the ladies sat round at their spinning, called for +the two young clerks to begin their tourney of words. They stood +opposite one another, on the step of the dais; and Kennedy, as host +and challenger, assigned to his opponent the choice of a subject, when +Malcolm, brightening, proposed one that he had so often heard and practised +on, as to have the arguments at his fingers’ ends; namely, that +the real consists only in that which is substantial to the senses, and +which we see, hear, taste, smell, or touch.</p> +<p>Kennedy’s shrewd gray eye glanced at him in a manner that startled +him, as he made reply, ‘Fellow-<i>alumnus</i>, you speak as Oxford +scholars speak; but I rede ye well that the real is not that which is +grossly tangible to the corporeal sense, but the idea that is conceived +within the immortal intelligence.’</p> +<p>The argument was carried on in the vernacular, but there was an unlimited +license of quotation from authors of all kinds, classics, Fathers, and +schoolmen. It was like a game at chess, in which the first moves +were always so much alike, that they might have been made by automatons; +and Malcolm was repeating reply and counter-reply, almost by rote, when +a citation brought in by Kennedy again startled him.</p> +<p>‘Outward things,’ said James, ‘are the mere mark; +for have we not heard how</p> +<blockquote><p>“Telephus et Peleus, quum pauper et exsul uterque,<br /> +Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba”?’ <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{6}</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>Was this to prove that he recognized a wandering prince in his opponent? +thought Malcolm; but, much on his guard, he made answer, as usual, in +his native tongue. ‘That which is not touched and held is +but a vain and fleeting shadow—“<i>solvitur in nube</i>.” +<a name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7">{7}</a></p> +<p>‘<i>Negatur</i>, it is denied!’ said Kennedy, fixing +his eyes full upon him. ‘The Speculum of the Soul, which +is immortal, retains the image even while the bodily presence is far +away. Wherefore else was it that Ulysses sat as a beggar by his +paternal hearth, or that Cadmus wandered to seek his sister?’</p> +<p>This was anything but the regular illustration—the argument +was far too directly <i>ad hominem</i>—and Malcolm hesitated for +a moment, ere framing his reply. ‘If the image had satisfied +the craving of their hearts, they had never wandered, nor endangered +themselves.’</p> +<p>‘Nor,’ said Kennedy, ‘endeared themselves to all +who love the leal and the brave, and count these indeed as verities +for which to live.’</p> +<p>From the manner in which these words were spoken, Malcolm had no +further doubt either that Kennedy knew him, or that he meant to assist +him; and the discussion thenceforth proceeded without further departures +from the regular style, and was sustained with considerable spirit, +till the Regent grew weary of it, and bed-time approached, when Kennedy +announced his intention of taking his fellow-student to share his chamber; +and, as this did not appear at all an unnatural proposal, in the crowded +Castle, Malcolm followed him up various winding stairs into a small +circular chamber, with a loop-hole window, within one of the flanking +towers.</p> +<p>Carefully closing the heavy door, Kennedy held out his hands. +‘Fair cousin,’ he said, ‘this is bravely done of you.’</p> +<p>‘Will it save my sister?’ asked Malcolm, anxiously.</p> +<p>‘It should,’ said his kinsman; ‘but how can it +be? Whatever is done, must be ere Walter Stewart returns.’</p> +<p>‘Tell me all! I know nothing—save that she was +cruelly lured from St. Abbs.’</p> +<p>‘I know little more,’ said Kennedy. ‘It was +on a false report of your death, and Walter had well-nigh obtained a +forcible marriage; when her resistance and cries to Heaven daunted the +monk who was to have performed the rite, so that he, in a sort, became +her protector. When she was brought here, Walter swore he would +bend her to his will; shut her up in the old keep, and kept her there, +scantily fed, and a close prisoner, while he went forth on one of his +forays. The Regent coming here meantime, found the poor maiden +in her captivity, and freed her so far that she lives, to all appearance, +as becomes his kinswoman; but the Duchess is cruelly strict with her, +being resolved, as she says, to take down her pride.’</p> +<p>‘They must know that I live,’ said Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘They do; but Walter is none the less resolved not to be balked. +Things came to a wild pass a few weeks syne. The Regent had never +dared tell him how far matters had gone for bringing back the King, +when one day Walter came in, clad for hawking; and, in his rudest manner, +demanded the falcon that was wont to sit on his father’s wrist, +and that had never been taken out by any other. The Regent refused +to part with the bird, as he had oft done before; whereupon his son, +in his fury, snatched her from his wrist, and wrung her head off before +all our eyes; then turning fiercely on your poor sister, told her that +“yon gled should be a token to her, of how they fared who withheld +themselves from him.” Then rose the Duke, trembling within +rage; “Ay, Wat,” said he, “ye hae been owermuch for +me. We will soon have ane at home that will ken how to guide ye.” +Walter looked at him insolently, and muttered, “I’ve heard +of this before! They that wad have a master, may live under a +master—but I’m not ane of them;” and then, turning +upon Lady Lilias, he pointed to the dead hawk, and told her that, unless +she yielded to him with a good grace, that bird showed her what she +might expect, long ere the King or her brother were across the border.’</p> +<p>‘And where is he now?’</p> +<p>‘In Fife, striving to get a force together to hinder the King’s +return. He’ll not do that; men are too weary of misrule +to join him against King James; but he is like, any day, to come back +with reivers enough to terrify his father, and get your sister into +his hands—indeed, his mother is ready to give her up to him whenever +he asks. He has sworn to have her now, were it merely to vex the +King and you, and show that he is to be daunted neither by man, heaven, +nor hell.’</p> +<p>‘And he may come?’</p> +<p>‘Any day or any night,’ said James. ‘Since +he went I have striven, in vain, to devise some escape for your sister; +but Heaven has surely sent you to hinder so foul a wrong! Yet, +if you went to Glenuskie and raised your vassals—’</p> +<p>‘It would be loss of time,’ said Malcolm; ‘and +this matter may not be put to the doubtful issue of a fray between my +men and his villains. Out of this place must she go at once. +But, alas! how win to the speech of her?’</p> +<p>‘That can I do,’ said Kennedy. ‘For a few +brief moments, each day, have I spoken to her in the chapel. Nay, +I had left this place before now, had she not prayed me to remain as +her only friend.’</p> +<p>‘Heaven must requite you, Cousin James,’ said Malcolm, +warmly. ‘I deserved not this of you.’</p> +<p>‘All that I desire,’ said Kennedy, ‘is to see this +land of ours cease to be full of darkness and cruel habitations. +Malcolm, you know the King better than I; may we not trust that he will +come as a redresser of wrongs?’</p> +<p>‘Know you not his pledge to himself?—“I will make +the key keep the castle, and the bracken bush keep the cow, though I +live the life of a dog to bring it about!”’</p> +<p>‘God strengthen his hand,’ said Kennedy, with tears in +his eyes; ‘and bring better days to our poor land. Cousin, +has not your heart burnt within you, to be doing somewhat to bring these +countrymen of ours to better mind?’</p> +<p>‘I have grieved,’ said Malcolm. ‘The sight +has been the woe and horror of my whole life; and either it is worse +now than when I went away, or I see it clearer.’</p> +<p>‘It is both,’ said Kennedy; ‘and, Malcolm, it is +borne in on me that we, who have seen better things, have a heavy charge! +The King may punish marauders, and enforce peace; but it will be but +the rule of the strong hand, unless men’s hearts be moved! +Our clergy—they bear the office of priests—but their fierceness +and their ignorance would scarce be believed in France or England; and +how should it be otherwise, with no schools at home save the abbeys—and +the abbeys almost all fortresses held by fierce noblemen’s sons?’</p> +<p>Malcolm would much rather have discussed the means of rescuing his +sister, but James Kennedy’s heart was full of a youth’s +ardent plans for the re-awakening of religion in his country, chiefly +through the improved education of the clergy, and it was not easy to +bring his discourse to a close.</p> +<p>‘You—you were to wed a great Flemish heiress?’ +he said. ‘You will do your part, Cousin, in the founding +of a University—such as has changed ourselves so greatly.’</p> +<p>Malcolm smiled. ‘My only bride is learning,’ he +said; ‘my other betrothal is but in name, for the safety of the +lady.’</p> +<p>‘Then,’ cried Kennedy joyfully, ‘you will give +yourself. Learning and culture turned to God’s service, +for this poor country’s sake, in one of birth like you, may change +her indeed.’</p> +<p>Was this the reading of Esclairmonde’s riddle? suddenly thought +Malcolm. Was the true search for heavenly Light, then, to consist +in holding up to his countrymen the lamp he was kindling for himself? +Must true wisdom consist in treasuring knowledge, not for his own honour +among learned men, or the delectation of his own mind, but to scatter +it among these rude northern souls? Must the vision of learned +research and scholarly calm vanish, as cloistral peace, and chivalrous +love and glory, had vanished before? and was the lot of a hard-working +secular priest that which called him?</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII: CLERK DAVIE</h2> +<p>For Malcolm to speak with his sister was well-nigh an impossibility. +Had he been detected, he would have been immediately treated as a spy, +and the suspicion thus excited would have been a dangerous preparation +for the King as well as for himself; nor was there any pretext for giving +the wandering scholar an interview with her.</p> +<p>But harsh and strict as was the Duchess of Albany—a tall, raw-boned, +red-haired woman, daughter of the fierce old Earl of Lennox—and +resolved as she was to bend Lilias by persecution to accept her son, +she could not debar a young gentleman of the royal kindred, like James +Kennedy, from entering the apartment where the ladies of the family +sat with their needles; and the Regent, half from pity, half from shame, +had refused to permit Lilias Stewart’s being treated as a mere +captive.</p> +<p>Thus Malcolm remained in Kennedy’s room in much anxiety, while +his cousin went forth to do his best in his cause, and after some hours +returned to him with the tidings that he had succeeded in letting Lily +know that he was in the Castle. Standing over her while she bent +over her embroidery, and thus concealing her trembling agitation, he +had found it possible to whisper in her ears the tidings of her brother +having come to save her, and of hearing her insist that Malcolm, ‘wee +Malcolm, must run no peril, but that she would do and dare everything—nay, +would prefer death itself to Walter Stewart.’</p> +<p>‘Have you any device in this matter?’ demanded James +Kennedy, when he had thus spoken.</p> +<p>‘Have you your college gown here?’ inquired Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘I have, in yon kist,’ said Kennedy. ‘Would +you disguise her therein? You and she are nearly of a height.’</p> +<p>‘Ay,’ said Malcolm. ‘The plot I thought on +is this—the worst is that the risk rests with you.’</p> +<p>‘That is naught, less than naught,’ said Kennedy. +‘I had risked myself ten times over had I seen any hope for her +in so doing.’</p> +<p>Malcolm then explained his plan, namely, that if Lilias could have +Kennedy’s gown conveyed to her, she should array herself therein, +and be conducted out of the castle by her cousin by one gate, he himself +in secular garb going by another, and joining at some place of meeting, +whence, as a pair of brothers, Malcolm and she might gain the English +border.</p> +<p>James Kennedy considered, and then added that he could improve on +the plan. He had long intended leaving Doune for his brother’s +castle, but only tarried in case he could do anything for Lilias. +He would at supper publicly announce to the Regent his departure for +the next day, and also say that he had detained his fellow-scholar to +go within him. Then arranging for Malcolm’s exit in a secular +dress among his escort, as one of the many unobserved loungers, Lilias +should go with him in very early morning in the bachelor’s gown, +which he would place in a corner of a dark passage, where she could +find it. Then if Malcolm and she turned aside from his escort, +as the pursuit as soon as her evasion was discovered would be immediately +directed on himself, they would have the more time for escape.</p> +<p>It was a complicated plan, but there was this recommendation, that +Malcolm need not lose sight of his sister. Clerk as he was, young +Kennedy could not ride without an escort, and among his followers he +could place Malcolm. Accordingly at supper he announced his desire +to leave Doune at dawn next morning, and was, as a matter of course, +courteously pressed to remain. Malcolm in the meantime eluded +observation as much as possible while watching his sister, who, in spite +of all her efforts, was pale and red by turns, never durst glance towards +him, and trembled whenever any one went near him.</p> +<p>The ladies at length swept out of the hall, and Robert and Alexander +called for more wine for a rere-supper to drink to James’s good +journey; but Kennedy tore himself from their hospitable violence, and +again he and Malcolm were alone, spending a night of anxiety and consultation.</p> +<p>Morning came; Malcolm arrayed himself in a somewhat worn dress of +Kennedy’s, with the belt and dirk he had carried under his scholar’s +garb now without, and a steel cap that his cousin had procured for him +on his head. With a parcel in his arms of Kennedy’s gear, +he might pass for a servant sent from home to meet him; and so soon +as this disguise was complete, Kennedy opened the door. On the +turret stair stood a hooded black figure, that started as the door opened.</p> +<p>Malcolm’s heart might well seem to leap to his lips, but both +brother and sister felt the tension of nerve that caution required too +much to give way for a moment.</p> +<p>Kennedy whispered, ‘Your license, fair Cousin,’ and passed +on with the free step of lordly birth, while a few paces behind the +seeming scholar humbly followed, and Malcolm, putting on his soldier’s +tread and the careless free-and-easy bearing he had affected before +Meaux, brought up the rear with Master Kennedy’s mails.</p> +<p>As they anticipated, the household was not troubling itself to rise +to see the priest off. Not that this made the coast clear, for +the floor of the hall was cumbered with snoring sleepers in all sorts +of attitudes—nay, at the upper table, the flushed, debauched, +though young and handsome, faces of Robert and Alexander Stewart might +have been detected among those who lay snoring among the relics of their +last night’s revel.</p> +<p>The old steward was, however, up and alert, ready to offer the stirrup-cup, +and the horses were waiting in the court; but what they had by no means +expected or desired was that Duke Murdoch himself, in his long furred +gown, came slowly across the hall to bid his young kinsman Kennedy farewell.</p> +<p>‘Speed you well, my lad,’ he said kindly. ‘I +ask ye not to tarry in what ye must deem a graceless household;’ +and he looked sadly across at his two sons, boys in age, but seniors +in excess. ‘I would we had mair lads like you. I fear +me a heavy reckoning is coming.’</p> +<p>‘You have ever been good lord to all, Sir,’ said Kennedy, +affectionately, for he really loved and pitied the soft-hearted Duke.</p> +<p>‘Too good, maybe,’ said Murdoch. ‘What! the +scholar goes with you?’ and he fixed a look on Lily’s face +that brought the colour deep into it under her hood.</p> +<p>‘Yes, Sir,’ answered Kennedy, respectfully. ‘Here, +you Tam,’ indicating Malcolm, ‘take him behind you on the +sumpter-horse.’</p> +<p>‘Fare ye weel, gentle scholar,’ said Murdoch, taking +the hand that Lily was far from offering. ‘May ye win to +your journey’s end safe and sound; and remember,’ he added, +holding the fingers tight, and speaking under the hood, ‘if ye +have been hardly served, ’twas to make ye the second lady in Scotland. +Take care of her—him, young laddie,’ he added, turning on +Malcolm: ‘’tis best so; and mind’ (he spoke in the +same wheedling tone of self-excuse), ‘if ye tell the tale down +south, nae ill hath been dune till her, and where could she have been +mair fitly than beneath her kinsman’s roof? I’d not +let her go, but that young blude is hot and ill to guide.’</p> +<p>An answer would have been hard to find; and it was well that he did +not look for any. Indeed, Malcolm could not have spoken without +being heard by the seneschal, and therefore could only bow, take his +seat on the baggage-horse, and then feel his sister mounting behind +him in an attitude less unfamiliar on occasion even to the high-born +ladies of the fifteenth century than to those of our day. Four +years it was since he had felt her touch, four years since she had sat +behind him as they followed the King to Coldingham! His heart +swelled with thankfulness as he passed under the gateway, and the arms +that clung round his waist clasped him fervently; but neither ventured +on a word, amid Kennedy’s escort, and they rode on a couple of +miles in the same silence. Then Kennedy, pausing, said, ‘There +lies your way, Brother. Tam, you may show the scholar the way +to the Gray Friars’ Grange, bear them greetings frae me, and halt +till ye hear from me. Fare ye well.’</p> +<p>Lilias trusted her voice to say, ‘Blessings on ye, Sir, for +all ye have done for me,’ but Malcolm thought it wiser in his +character of retainer to respond only by a bow.</p> +<p>Of course they understood that the direction Kennedy gave was the +very one they were not to take, but they followed it till a tall bush +of gorse hid them from the escort; and then Malcolm, grasping his sister’s +hand, plunged down among the rowans, ferns, and hazels, that covered +the steep bank of the river, and so soon as a footing was gained under +shelter of a tall rock, threw his arms round her, almost sobbing in +an under-tone, ‘My Lily, my tittie!—safe at last! +Oh, God be thanked! I knew her prayers would be heard! Oh, +would that Patrick were here!’ Then, as her face changed +and quivered ready to weep, he cried, ‘Eh, what! art still deeming +him dead?’</p> +<p>‘How!’ she cried wildly. ‘He fell into the +hands of your English, and—’</p> +<p>‘He fell into the hands of your King and mine,’ said +Malcolm. ‘Yes, King James dragged him out of the burning +house, and wrung his pardon out of King Harry. He came with me +to St. Abbs to fetch you, Lily, and only went back because his knighthood +would not serve in this quest like my clerkship.’</p> +<p>‘Patrick living, Patrick safe! Oh!’ she fell on +her knees among the ferns, hid her face in her hands, and drew a long +breath. ‘Malcolm, this is joy overmuch. The desolation +of yesterday, the joy to-day!’</p> +<p>Malcolm, seeing her like one stifled by emotion, fell on his knees +beside her, and whispered forth a thanksgiving. She rested with +her head on his shoulder in content till he started up, saying in a +lively manner, ‘Come, Lily, we must be on our way. A very +bonnie young clerk you are, with your berry-brown locks cut so short +round your face.’</p> +<p>Lilias blushed up to the short dark curls she had left herself. +‘Had I thought he lived, I could scarce have done it.’</p> +<p>‘What, not to get to him, silly maid? Here,’ as +he shook out and donned the gown he had brought rolled up, ‘now +am I a scholar too. Stay, you must take off this badge of the +bachelor; you have only been in a monastery school, you know; you are +my young brother—what shall we call you?’</p> +<p>‘Davie,’ softly suggested Lilias.</p> +<p>‘Ay, Davie then, that I’ve come home to fetch to share +my Paris lear. You can be very shy and bashful, you know, and +leave all the knapping of Latin and logic to me.’</p> +<p>‘If it is such as you did with Jamie Kennedy,’ said Lilias, +‘it will indeed be well. Oh, Malcolm, I sat and marvelled +at ye—so gleg ye took him up. How could ye learn it? +And ye are a brave warrior too in battles,’ she added, looking +him over with a sister’s fond pride.</p> +<p>‘We have had no battle, no pitched field,’ said Malcolm +‘but I have seen war.’</p> +<p>‘So that ugly words can never be flung in your face again!’ +cried Lilias. ‘Are you knighted, brother?’</p> +<p>‘No, but they say I have won my spurs. I’ll tell +you all, Lily, as we walk. Only let me bestow this iron cap where +some mavis may nestle in it. Ay, and the boots too, which scarce +befit a clerk. There, your hand, Clerk Davie; we must make westward +to-day, lest poor Duke Murdoch be forced to send to chase us. +After that, for the Border and Patie.’</p> +<p>So brother and sister set forth on their wandering—and truly +it was a happy journey. The weather favoured them, and their hearts +were light. Lilias, delivered from terrible, hopeless captivity, +her brother beside her, and now not a brother to be pitied and protected, +but to protect her and be exulted in, trod the heather with an exquisite +sense of joy and freedom that buoyed her up against all hardships; and +Malcolm was at peace, as he had seldom been. His happiness was +not exactly like his sister’s in her renewed liberty and restoration +to love and joy, for he had known a wider range of life, and though +really younger than Lily, his more complicated history could not but +make him older in thought and mind. Another self-abnegation was +beginning to rise upon him, as he travelled slowly southwards by stages +suited to his sister’s powers, and by another track than that +by which he had gone. On the moor, or by the burn side, there +was peace and brightness; but wherever he met with man he found something +to sadden him. Did they rest in a monastery, there was often irregularity, +seldom devotion, always crass ignorance. The manse was often a +scene of such dissolute life that Malcolm shunned to bring his sister +into the sight of it; the peel tower was the dwelling of savagery; the +farm homestead either rude and lawless or in constant terror; the black +spaces on many a brae side showed where dwellings had been burned; more +than once they passed skeletons depending from the trees or lying rotting +by the way-side. And it was frightful to Malcolm, after his four +years’ absence, to find how little Lilias shared his horror, taking +quite naturally what to Alice Montagu would have seemed beyond the bounds +of possibility, and would have set Esclairmonde’s soul on fire, +while Lilias seemed to think it her brother’s amiable peculiarity +to be shocked, or to long to set such things straight.</p> +<p>He felt the truth of James Kennedy’s words—that reformation +could not be the sole work of the King, but that his hands must be strengthened +by all the few who knew that a different state of things was possible, +and that, above all, the clergy needed to be awakened into vigour and +intelligence. Formerly, the miserable aspect of the country had +merely terrified him, and driven him to strive to hide his head in a +convent; but the strength and the sense of duty he had acquired had +brought his heart to respond to Kennedy’s call to work.</p> +<p>Esclairmonde’s words wrought within him beyond her own ken +or purpose in speaking them. He began to understand that to bury +himself in an Italian university and dive into Aristotle’s sayings, +to heap up his own memory with the stores of thought he loved, or to +plunge into the mazes of mathematics, philosophy, and music, while his +brethren in his own country were tearing one another to pieces for lack +of any good influence to teach or show them better things, would be +a storing of treasure for himself on earth, a pursuit of the light of +knowledge indeed, but not a wooing of the light of Wisdom, the true +Light of the World, as seen in Him who went about doing good. +To complete his present course was, he knew, necessary. He had +seen enough of really learned scholars to know the depths of his own +ignorance, and to be aware that certain books must be read under guidance, +and certain studies gone through, before his cultivation would be on +a level with the standard of the best working clergy of the English +Church—such as Chicheley, Waynflete, or the like. He would +therefore remain at Oxford, he thought, long enough to take his Master +of Arts degree, and then, though to his own perceptions only the one-eyed +among the blind, he would make the real sacrifice of himself in the +rude and cruel world of Scotland.</p> +<p>He knew that his king was well satisfied with Patrick, and also that +a man of sound heart and prompt, hard hand was far fitter to rule as +a secular lord than his own more fine-drawn mature could ever be; but +as a priest, with the influence that his birth and the King’s +friendship would give him, he already saw chances of raising the tone +of the clergy, and thus improving the wild and lawless people.</p> +<p>A deep purpose of self-devotion was growing up in his soul, but without +saddening him, only rendering him more energetic and cheerful than his +sister had ever known him.</p> +<p>As they walked together over the long stretches of moor, many were +Lily’s questions; and Malcolm beguiled the way with many a story +of camp and court, told both for his own satisfaction in her sympathy, +and with the desire to make the Scottish lassie see what was the life +and what the thoughts of ladies of her own degree in other lands, so +that the Lady of Glenuskie might be awake to somewhat of the high purpose +of virtuous home government to which Alice of Salisbury had been trained.</p> +<p>As to the Flemish heiress, no representation would induce Lilias +to love her. Reject Malcolm for a convent’s sake! +It was unpardonable; and as to a bedeswoman, working uncloistered in +the streets, Lily viewed that as neither the one thing nor the other, +neither religious nor secular; and she was persuaded that a little exertion +on the part of the brother, whom she viewed as a paladin, would overcome +all coyness on the lady’s part.</p> +<p>Malcolm found it vain to try to show his sister his sense of his +own deserts, and equally so to declare that if the maiden should so +yield, she would indeed be the Demoiselle de Luxemburg to whom he was +pledged, but not the Esclairmonde whom his better part adored. +So he let the matter pass by, and both enjoyed their masquing in one +another’s company as a holiday such as they could never have again.</p> +<p>They had no serious alarms; the pursuit must have been disconcerted, +and the two young scholars were not worth the attention of freebooters. +Their winsomeness of manner won them kindness wherever they harboured; +and thus, after many days, without molestation they came to the walls +of Berwick. And now, while Malcolm thought his difficulties at +an end, a horror of bashfulness fell upon Lilias. She had been +Clerk Davie merrily enough while there was no one to suspect her, but +the transmutation into her proper self filled her with shame.</p> +<p>She hung back, and could be hardly dragged forward to the embattled +gateway of the bridge by her brother—who, as the guards, jealously +cautious even in this time of peace, called out to him to stand, showed +his ring bearing the royal arms, and desired to speak within the captain +of the garrison, who was commanding in the name of the Earl of Northumberland, +Governor of Berwick and Warden of the Marches, and who had entertained +him on his way north, and would have been warned by Patrick of his probable +return in this guise.</p> +<p>Instead of the stalwart form of the veteran sub-governor, however, +a quick step came hurrying to the gateway, and the light figure of a +young knight stood before him, with outstretched hands, crying: ‘Welcome +to the good town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, dear comrade!’ And +he added in a lower tone: ‘So you have succeeded in your quest—if, +as I trow, this fairest of clerks be your lady sister. May I—’</p> +<p>‘Hold!’ softly said Malcolm. ‘She is so shamefast +that she cannot brook a word;’ and in fact Lilias had pulled her +hood over her face, and shrunk behind him, at the first approach of +the young gentleman.</p> +<p>‘We will to my mother,’ said Ralf, aloud. ‘She +has always a soft corner in her heart for a young clerk or a wanderer.’</p> +<p>And so saying, without even looking at the disguised figure, he gave +the pass-word, and holding Malcolm by the arm, led him, followed by +Lilias, through the defences and into the court of the castle, then +to a side-door, where, bounding up several steps at once of a stone +stair, he opened a sort of anteroom door, and bade the two strangers +wait there while he fetched his mother.</p> +<p>‘That is well! Who would have looked to see him here!’ +cried Malcolm, joyously. ‘What, you knew him not? +It was Ralf Percy, my dear old companion!’</p> +<p>‘Ralf Percy! he that was so bold and daring?’ cried Lilias. +‘Nay, but how can it be, he was as meek and shamefast—’</p> +<p>‘As yourself,’ smiled Malcolm. ‘Ah, sister, +you have much to learn of the ways of an English gentleman among ladies.’</p> +<p>Before many further words could be exchanged, there entered a fair +and matronly dame in the widow’s veil she had worn ever since +the fatal day of Shrewsbury—that eager, loving, yet almost childish +woman whom we know so well as Hotspur’s gentle Kate (only that +unfortunately her name was Elizabeth); fondling, teasing, being fondled +and teased in return, and then with all her pretty puerilities scorched +away when she upbraids Northumberland with his fatal delay. Could +Malcolm and Lilias have known her as we do in Shakespeare, they would +have been the more gratified by her welcome, whereas they only saw her +kind face and the courtly sweep of her curtsey, as, going straight up +to the disguised girl, blushing and trembling now more than ever, she +said: ‘Poor child, come with me, and we will soon have you yourself +again, ere any other eye see you;’ and then moved away again, +holding Lily by the hand, while Ralf, who had followed close behind +her, again grasped Malcolm’s hand.</p> +<p>‘Well done, Glenuskie; you have all the adventures! They +seek you, I believe! So you have borne off your damosel errant, +and are just in time to receive your king.’</p> +<p>‘Is he wedded then?’</p> +<p>‘Ay, and you find us all here in full state, prepared to banquet +him and lodge him and his bride for a night, and then I fancy my brother +is to go through some ceremony, ere giving him up to his own subjects. +We are watching for him every day. Come to my chamber, and I’ll +apparel you.’</p> +<p>‘Nay, but what brings you here, Ralf?—you, whom I thought +in France.’</p> +<p>‘’Twas a Scottish bill that brought me,’ answered +Ralf. ‘What, are you too lost in parchment at Oxford to +hear of us poor soldiers, or knew you not how we fought at Crevant?’</p> +<p>‘I heard of the battle, and that you were hurt, but that was +months ago, and I deemed you long since in the field again. Was +it so sore a matter?’</p> +<p>‘Chiefly sore for that it hindered me from taking the old rogue +Douglas, and meriting my spurs as befitted a Percy. I was knighted +while the trumpet was sounding, and I did think that I was on the way +to prowess, for fully in the <i>mêlée</i> I saw a fellow +with the Douglas banner. I made at it, thinking of my father’s +and of Otterburn; and, Malcolm, this very hand was on the staff, when +what must a big Scot do but chop at me with his bill like a butcher’s +axe. Had it fallen on mine arm it would have been lopped off like +a bough of a tree, but, by St. George’s grace, it lit here, between +my neck and shoulder, and stuck fast as I went down, and the fellow +was swept away from me. ’Twas so fixed in the very bone, +that they had much ado to wrench it out, when there was time after the +fight to look after us who had come by the worse. And what d’ye +think they found, Malcolm? Why, those honest Yorkshiremen, Trenton +and Kitson, stark dead, both of them. Trenton must have gone down +first, with a lance-thrust in the throat; and there was Kitson over +him, his shield over his head, and his own cleft open with an axe! +They laid them side by side—so I was told—in their grave; +and sure ’twas as strange and as true a brotherhood as ever was +between two brave men.’</p> +<p>‘The good fellows!’ cried Malcolm. ‘Nay, +after what I saw I can hardly grieve. I went to Kitson’s +home, where they knew as little as I did of his death, and verily his +place had closed up behind him, so that I scarce think his mother even +cared to see him more, and the whole of them seemed more concerned at +his amity with Trenton than proud of his feats of arms. I was +marvelling if their friendship would be allowed to subsist at home, +even when they, poor fellows, were lying side by side in their French +grave.’</p> +<p>‘We warriors should never come home,’ said Percy; ‘we +are spoilt for aught but our French camp. I am wearying to get +back once more, but so long as I cannot swing my sword-arm I must play +the idler here.’</p> +<p>‘It must have been a fearsome wound,’ said Malcolm. +‘The marvel is your overgetting it.’</p> +<p>‘So say they all; and truly it has lasted no small time. +They shipped me off home so soon as I could leave my bed, and bade me +rest. Nay, and my mother herself came even to London, when my +brother was summoned to Parliament,—she who had never been there +since the first year after she was wedded!’</p> +<p>‘You can scarce complain of such kin as that,’ said Malcolm.</p> +<p>‘’Tis not the kin, but this petty Border life, that frets +me. Here we move from castle to castle, and now and then come +tidings of a cattle lifting, and Harry dons his helm and rides forth, +but nine times out of ten ’tis a false alarm, or if it be true, +the thieves have made off, and being time of peace, he, as Warden, cannot +make a raid in return. I’m sick of the life, after the only +warfare fit for a knight, with French nobles instead of Border thieves; +and back I will. If my right arm will not serve me, the left shall. +I can use a lance indifferent well already.’</p> +<p>As Sir Ralf Percy spoke, a bugle-call rang through the castle. +He started. ‘Hark! that’s the warder’s horn,’ +and flying to the door, he soon returned crying—‘Your king +is in sight, Malcolm!’</p> +<p>‘How soon will he be here?’</p> +<p>‘In less than half an hour. There’s time to array +yourself. I’ll take you to my chamber.’</p> +<p>‘Thanks,’ said Malcolm; ‘but this gown is no disguise +to me. I had rather meet the King thus, for it is my fitting garb. +Only I would remove the soil of the journey, and then take my sister +by the hand.’</p> +<p>For this there was ample time, and Malcolm had arranged his hair, +and brushed away the dust from his gown, washed his face and hands, +and made himself look more like an Oxford bachelor, and less like a +begging clerk, than he had of late judged it prudent to appear, ere +Ralf took him to the great hall, where he found Lord Northumberland +and the chief gentlemen of his household, with his mother, Lady Percy, +and his young wife, together with their ladies, assembling for the reception +of their royal guests.</p> +<p>Malcolm was presented to, and kindly greeted by, each of the principal +personages, and then the Earl, Sir Ralf, and their officers went forth +to meet the King at the gateway. Malcolm, however, at his sister’s +entreaty, remained with her, for in the doubt whether Patrick were really +at hand, and a fond unreasonable vexation that he had had no part in +her liberation, her colour was coming and going, and she looked as if +she might almost faint in her intense excitement.</p> +<p>But when, marshalled by the two Percies, King James and Queen Joan +had entered the hall, and the blare of trumpets without and rejoicings +within, and had been welcomed with deep reverences by the two ladies, +Ralf said: ‘Sir, methinks you have here what you may be glad to +see.’</p> +<p>And standing aside, he made way for the two figures to stand forth, +one in the plain black gown and hood, the other in the rich robes of +a high-born maiden, her dark eyes on the ground, her fair face quivering +within emotion, as both she and her brother bent the knee before their +royal master.</p> +<p>‘Ha!’ cried James, ‘this is well indeed. +Thou hast her, then, lad? See, Patrick! Where is he? +Nay, but, fair wife, I must present thee the first kinswoman of mine +thou hast seen. How didst bring her off, Malcolm?’ +And he embraced Malcolm with the ardour of a happy man, as he added, +‘This is all that was wanting.’</p> +<p>Truly James looked as if nothing were wanting to his joy, as there +he stood after his years of waiting, a bridegroom, free, and on the +borders of his native land. His eyes shone with joy, and there +was a bright energy and alacrity in his bearing that, when Malcolm bethought +him of those former grave movements, and the quiet demeanour as though +only interested by an effort, marked the change from the captive to +the free man. And beautiful Joan, lovelier than ever, took on +her her queenly dignity with all her wonted grace and graciousness.</p> +<p>She warmly embraced Lilias, hailing her as cousin, and auguring joyously +of the future from the sight of this first Stewart maiden whom she had +seen; and the next moment Patrick Drummond, hurrying forward, fell on +his knee before his lady, grasped, kissed, fondled her hand, and struggled +and stammered between his rejoicing over her liberation and despair +that he had no part in it.</p> +<p>‘Yea,’ said the King ‘it was well-nigh a madman +whom you sent home to me, Malcolm. He was neither to have nor +to hold; and what he would have had me do, or have let him do, I’ll +not say, nor doth he know either. I must hear your story ere I +sleep, Malcolm.’</p> +<p>The King did not ask for it then: he would not brook the exposure +of the disunion and violence of Scotland to the English, especially +the Percies; and it was not till he could see Malcolm alone that he +listened to his history.</p> +<p>‘Cousin,’ he said, ‘you have done both bravely +and discreetly. Methinks you have redeemed my pledge to your good +guardian that in the south you should be trained to true manhood; though +I am free to own that ’twas not under my charge that you had the +best training. How is it to be, Malcolm? Patrick tells me +you saw the Lady of Light.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, Sir, but neither her purpose nor mine is shaken. +My lord, I believe I see how best to serve God and yourself. If +you will consent, I will finish my first course at Oxford, and then +offer myself for the priesthood.’</p> +<p>‘Not hide thyself in cloister or school—that is well!’ +exclaimed the King.</p> +<p>‘No, Sir. Methinks I could serve yonder rude people best +if I were among them as a priest.’</p> +<p>James considered, then said: ‘I pledged myself not to withstand +your conscience, Malcolm; and though I grieve that the lady should be +lost, she has never wavered, and cannot be balked of her will. +Godly and learned priests will indeed be needed; and between you and +James Kennedy, when both are come to elder years, we may perchance lift +our poor Scottish Church to some clearer sense of what a church should +be. Meanwhile—’ The King stopped and considered. +‘Study in England! Ay! You see, Malcolm, I must take +my seat, and have the reins of my unruly steed firm in my hand, ere +I take cognizance of these offences. The caitiff Walter—mansworn +that he is—he shall abye it; but that can scarce be as yet, and +methinks it were not well that I entered Scotland with you and your +sister at my side, for then must I seem to have overlooked an offence +that, by this holy relic, I will never pardon. So, Malcolm, instead +of entering Scotland with me—bonnie land, how sweet its air blows +from the north!—ye must e’en turn south! But how to +dispose of your sister? Some nunnery—’</p> +<p>‘Poor Lily, she is weary of convents,’ said Malcolm ‘but +if Lady Montagu would let her be with her and the Lady Esclairmonde, +then would she learn somewhat of the ways of a well-ordered English +noble house. And I could well provide for her being there as befits +her station.’</p> +<p>‘Well thought of! The gentle Lady Alice will no doubt +welcome her,’ said the King; ‘and Patrick must endure.’</p> +<p>Thus then was it fixed. The King and Queen, stately and beautiful, +royally robed, and mounted on splendid steeds, were escorted the next +morning to the Scottish gate of Berwick by Lord Northumberland and his +retinue, and they were met by an imposing band of Scottish nobles, with +the white-haired Earl of Lennox at their head. To these the captive +was formally surrendered by Northumberland; and James, flinging himself +from his horse, kissed his native soil, and gave thanks aloud to God, +ere he stood up and received the homage of his subjects, to most of +whom he was a total stranger.</p> +<p>Malcolm and Lilias on the walls could see all, but could not hear, +and finally beheld the glittering troop wind their way over the hills +to make ready for the coronation of James and Joan as king and queen +of Scotland.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX: THE LION’S WRATH</h2> +<p>It was the 24th of May, 1425, when in the vaulted hall of the Castle +of Stirling the nobles of Scotland were convened to try, as the peers +of the realm, men of rank—no less than Murdoch, Duke of Albany, +his sons Walter and Alexander, the Earl of Lennox, and twenty-two other +nobles, most of whom had been arraigned in the Parliament of Perth two +months previously, and had been shut up in different castles. +Robert Stewart had escaped to the Highlands; and Walter—who had +neither been at the Coronation of Scone, nor at the Parliament of Perth, +nor indeed had ever bowed his pride so as to present himself to the +King at all—had been separately arrested, and shut up for two +months in the strong castle on the Bass Rock.</p> +<p>The charge was termed treason and violence; and assuredly there had +been perpetual acts of spoil and barbarous infractions of the law by +men who deemed themselves above all law. The only curiosity was, +for which of these acts they were to be tried, and this affected many +of their judges likewise; for there was hardly a man in that court who +was not conscious of some deed that would not exactly bear to be set +beside the code of Scotland, and who had not been in the habit of regarding +those laws as all very well for burghers, but not meant for gentlemen.</p> +<p>There, on seats behind the throne, sat the twenty-one jurors, Earl +Douglas among them—a new earl, for the grim old Archibald had +died in the battle of Verneuil some months before. Angus, March, +and Mar, and all the most powerful names in Scotland, were there; and +upon his throne, in regal robes of crimson and ermine, the crown upon +his brow, the sceptre in his hand, the sword of state held before him, +sat King James, the most magnificent-looking king then reigning in Europe, +but with the sternest, saddest, most resolute of countenances, as one +unalterably fixed upon the terrible duty of not bearing the sword in +vain. Something of Henry’s avenging-angel look seemed to +have passed into his face, but with far more of melancholy weight.</p> +<p>Walter Stewart was led into the court. He too was a man of +lofty stature and princely bearing, and his grand Stewart features were +set in an expression of easy nonchalance and scorn; aware as he was +that of whatever he might be accused, there were few of his judges that +did not share the guilt, and moreover persuaded that this was a mere +ceremony, and that the King would never dare to go beyond this futile +attempt to overawe him. He stood alone—his father and the +others were reserved for another trial; and as, richly arrayed, he stood +opposite to the jury, gazing fixedly first at one, then at the other, +as though challenging their right to sit in judgment on him, one eye +after another fell beneath his gaze.</p> +<p>‘Walter Stewart of Albany, Earl of Fife,’ proclaimed +the crier’s voice. ‘You stand here arraigned of murder +and of robbery.’</p> +<p>‘At whose suit?’ demanded Walter, undaunted.</p> +<p>‘At the suit of Malcolm and Lilias Stewart of Glenuskie; and +of Patrick Drummond of the Braes,’ returned the crier, an ecclesiastic, +as were all lawyers; and at the same moment three figures came forward, +namely, a tall knightly gentleman with gold chain and spurs, a lady +whose veil disclosed a blushing dark-eyed face, and a slender youth +of deep and earnest countenance. ‘At the suit of these here +present you stand arraigned, Sir Walter Stewart of Albany, for having +feloniously, and of malice aforethought, on the Eve of the Annunciation +of our Lady, of the year of grace 1421, set upon the said Malcolm and +Lilias Stewart, Sir David Drummond of the Braes, Tutor of Glenuskie, +and divers other persons, on the muir of Hetherfield; and having there +cruelly and maliciously wounded the said David of the Braes to the death; +and of having forcibly stolen and abducted the person of the said Lilias +Stewart—’</p> +<p>The crier was not permitted to proceed, for Walter Stewart broke +forth, passionately addressing the jurors. ‘So this is all +that can be found to be laid against me. This is the way that +matters of five years back are raked up to vex the princes and nobles +of Scotland. I am sorry for you, lords and gentlemen, if this +is the way that vexatious are to be stirred up against those who have +defended their country so long.’</p> +<p>‘This is no answer to the accusation, Sir Walter,’ said +the Earl of Mar.</p> +<p>‘Accusation, forsooth!’ said Walter Stewart scornfully. +‘Who dares to bear witness, if I <i>did</i> maintain my father’s +lawful authority over peevish runaway wards of the Crown?’</p> +<p>‘Sir Walter,’ said the King, ‘you would have done +better to have waited and heard the whole indictment ere answering one +charge. But since you demand who will dare to bear witness in +this matter of the murder of Sir David Drummond of the Braes, and of +the seizure of the Lady Lilias, here is one.’</p> +<p>So saying, and rising as he spoke, he held forth the reliquary that +hung from a chain round his neck, keeping his gleaming tawny eyes fixed +steadily straight upon Walter Stewart’s face.</p> +<p>That face, as he first had stood up, expressed the utmost amazement, +and this gradually, under the lion glance, became more and more of dismay, +quailing, collapsing visibly under the passionless gravity of that look. +Even the tall form seemed to shrink, the eyes dilated, the brows drew +closer together, and the chest seemed to pant, as the relic was held +forth. There was a dead silence throughout the court as the King +ceased to speak; only he continued to bend that searching gaze upon +his prisoner.</p> +<p>‘Was it you?—was it your own self, my lord?’ he +stammered forth at last, in the tone of one stricken.</p> +<p>‘Yea, Walter Stewart. To me it was, and on this holy +relic, that you made oath to abstain from all further spoil and violence +until the King should come again in peace. How that oath has been +kept the further indictments will show.’</p> +<p>‘I deemed it was St. Andrew,’ faltered the prisoner.</p> +<p>‘And therefore that the oath to a heavenly saint would better +bear breaking than one to an earthly sinner,’ replied James gravely. +‘Read on, Clerk of the Court.’</p> +<p>The roll continued—a long and terrible record of violence and +cruelty; the private warfare of the lawless young prince, the crimes +of reckless barbarity and of savage passion—a deadly roll, in +which indeed even the second abduction of Lilias was one of the least +acts laid to his charge.</p> +<p>No lack of witnesses were there to prove deeds that had been done +in the open face of day, in utter fearlessness of earthly justice, and +defiance of Heaven. The defence that the prisoner seemed to have +been prepared to us?—that those who sat to judge him had shared +in his offences, and his daring power of brow-beating them, as he had +so often done before, as son of the man who sat in the King’s +seat—had utterly failed him now. He was mute; and the forms +of the trial were gone through as of one whose doom was already sealed, +but who must receive his sentence according to the strictest form of +law, lest the just reward of his deeds should partake of their own violence. +By the end of the day the jurors had found Walter Stewart guilty; and +the doomster, a black-robed clerk, rising up, pronounced the sentence +that condemned Walter Stewart of Albany to suffer death by beheading.</p> +<p>Even then no one believed that the doom would be inflicted. +Royal blood had never flowed beneath the headsman’s axe; and it +would have been infinitely more congenial to Scottish feelings if the +King had sent a party of men-at-arms to fall on the Master in the high +road, and cut him off, or had burnt him alive in his castle. The +verdict ‘served him right’ would have been universally returned, +and rejoiced in; but a regular trial of a man of such birth was unheard +of, and shocking to the feelings even of those whom that irresistible +force of the King’s had compelled to sit in judgment upon him. +No one could avow it face to face with the King; but every one felt +it an outrage to find that no rank was exempt from law.</p> +<p>Duke Murdoch, his son Alexander, and his father-in-law Lennox, were +tried the next day, and many a deed of dark treason was laid to their +charge. The Earl of Lennox had been the scourge of Scotland for +more than half the eighty years of his life, but his extreme age might +have excited some pity; Murdoch had erred rather negatively than positively; +and Alexander, ruffian as he was, had been bred to nothing better. +Each had deserved the utmost penalty of the law again and again, and +yet there did seem more scope for mercy in their case than in that of +Walter.</p> +<p>But the King was inexorable. He set Malcolm aside as he had +set others.</p> +<p>‘I know what you would say, lad. Lennox is old, and Alexander +is young, and Albany is a fool; and Walter has injured you, so you are +bound to speak for him. Take it all as said. But these are +the men who have been foremost in making our country a desert! +Did I pardon them, with what face could I ever make any man suffer for +crime? And, in the state of this land, ruth to the guilty high +would be treason to the sackless low.’</p> +<p>So Stirling saw the unprecedented sight of three generations suffering +for their crimes upon the same scaffold—the white-haired Lennox, +the Duke of Albany in the prime of life, Walter in the flush and strength +of early manhood, Alexander in the bloom of youth. They all met +their fate undauntedly; for if Murdoch’s heart in any measure +failed him, he was afraid to give way in presence of the proud bold +Walter, who maintained an iron rigidity of demeanour with the wild fortitude +of a Red Indian at the stake, and in like manner could by no means comprehend +that King James acted from any motive save malice, for having been so +long kept out of his kingdom. ‘It was his turn now,’ +said poor Murdoch, even when most desirous of bringing himself to die +in a state of Christian forgiveness; nor could any power on earth show +any of the criminals that the King acted in the eternal interests of +right and justice.</p> +<p>Thus it was with the whole country; and when the four majestic-looking +men stood bare-headed on the scaffold, in view even of their own fair +towers of Doune, and one by one bowed their heads on the block, perverse +Scottish nature broke out into pity for their fate, and wrath against +the King, who could thus turn against his own blood, and disgrace the +royal lineage.</p> +<p>On that same day Malcolm received Esclairmonde’s token, there +being at present full peace with England, and set forth on her summons. +He met her at Pontefract, where she was residing with the Dowager Queen +Joan of Navarre, Alice of Salisbury having been summoned to return to +her husband in France.</p> +<p>There then it was that Malcolm and Esclairmonde, in presence of the +chaplain, gave each other back the rings, and therewith their troth +to wed none other, and were once more declared free.</p> +<p>Esclairmonde held out her hand to Malcolm, saying, ‘The thanks +I owe you, Sir, are beyond what tongue can tell. May He to Whom +my first vows were due requite it to you.’</p> +<p>And Malcolm, with his knee to the ground, pressing for the last time +that fair hand, said, ‘The thanks, lady, are mine. Had you +been one whit lower in aims or in constancy, what had I been? +You were my light of the world, but to light me to seek that higher +Light that shone forth in you, and which may I show truly to the darkened +spirits of my countrymen! Lady, you will permit me to take to +myself the ring you have worn so long. It will be my token of +my betrothal to that true Light.’</p> +<p>Such was their parting, when the one went forth to her tasks of charity +among the poor in London, the other to divest himself of land and lordship +on behalf of his sister and her husband, and then to begin his task +in the priesthood, of trying to hold up the true Light to hearts darkened +by many an age of crime and ignorance.</p> +<p>Lived very happy ever after! Yes, we would fain always leave +the creatures with whom our thoughts have been busy in such felicity; +but when we have linked them with real events, the sense of the veritable +course of history reminds us that we cannot even suppose beings possible +in real life without endowing them with the common lot of humanity; +and the personages of our tale lived in a time of more than ordinary +reverse and trouble.</p> +<p>Yet Sir Patrick Drummond and Lilias his wife, the Lord and Lady of +Glenuskie, nearly did fulfil these conditions. They had not feelings +beyond their age, but they were good specimens of that age, and they +did their duty in it; he as a trustworthy noble, ready to aid in council +or war, and she as the beneficent dame, bringing piety and charity to +heal the sufferings of her vassals and serfs. His hand was strong +enough to repel the attacks of his foes; her intelligence, backed by +Malcolm’s counsel, introduced improvements; and the little ravine +of Glenuskie was a happy valley of peace and prosperity for many years +among the convulsions of Scotland.</p> +<p>Nor was Esclairmonde de Luxemburg’s life in the Hospital of +St. Katharine otherwise than the holy and beneficent career that she +had always longed for—worshipping in the fair church, and going +forth from thence ‘into the streets and lanes of the city,’ +to fulfil Queen Philippa’s pious behest, to seek out the suffering +and the ignorant, and to tend and instruct them. The tall form +and beautiful countenance of Sister Clare were loved and reverenced +as those of an angel messenger among the high houses and courts that +closed in on the banks of the Thames; and while Luxemburgs in France +and Flanders intrigued and fought, plotted and fell, their kinswoman’s +days passed by in busy alms-deeds and ever loftier devotion, till those +who watched her steps felt that she was verily a light of the world, +manifesting forth the true Light in many a dark place.</p> +<p>And her light of sympathy shone upon many an old friend both in joy +and in grief. When the dissensions of Gloucester and Beaufort +had summoned Bedford to England to endeavour to appease their strife, +his Burgundian Duchess sought out her early friend, and Esclairmonde +saw her gentle companion, the Lady Anne, fulfilling her daily task of +mediation, and living a life, not indeed very sunshiny, but full of +all that esteem and respect could give her, and of calm gratitude and +affection, although Anne, like all others, believed that John of Bedford’s +heart had been buried in his brother’s grave, and that of youthful +love he had none to give. His whole soul was absorbed in his care +for the welfare of the pale, gentle, dreamy, inanimate boy, who, from +his very meekness and docility, gave so little promise of representing +the father whose name he bore.</p> +<p>The loving Alice of Montagu, though the mother of many a bold boy +and girl, and busy with all the cares of the great Nevil household, +regarded as the chief delight in a journey to court the sight of her +dear Sister Clare. It was to Sister Clare that Alice turned for +comfort when her brave old father died at the siege of Orleans; and +it was while daily soothing and ministering to her sorrow that Esclairmonde +heard the strange wild tales of the terrible witch maiden who had appeared +on behalf of the French, and turned whole English armies to flight, +by power that the French declared to come from the saints, but which +the English never doubted to be infernal. Maimed and wounded soldiers, +whom Esclairmonde relieved and tended as they returned from lost battles, +gave her fearful accounts of the panic that La Pucelle inspired. +Even the hardy veteran, Sir John Fastolfe, had not been able to withstand +her spells, but had fled from the field of Jergeau, where gallant Sir +Ralf Percy had died, in a vain attempt to gather the men to resist the +irresistible maiden. His groom, who had succumbed for a time to +wounds and weakness on his way home to Alnwick, was touched by the warmth +and emotion with which the kind bedeswoman listened to his lamentation +over the good and loyal knight, whom she pictured to herself resisting +the enchantress’s dread power as dauntlessly as he had defied +the phantoms of the Dance of Death.</p> +<p>No whisper ever reached Esclairmonde that the terrible Pucelle was +a maiden as pure and high-souled as herself. All that she heard +more was that this terror of the English and Burgundians was taken, +imprisoned for a time by her own Luxemburg kindred, and then carried +to Rouen, where the kind Duchess Anne of Bedford did her best to persuade +her to overcome the superstition that kept her in male garments, thus +greatly tending to increase the belief in her connection with the powers +of evil. French and Burgundian bishops, and even the University +of Paris, were the judges of the maiden; and the dastard prince she +had crowned never stirred a finger nor uttered a protest in her behalf. +Bedford, always disposed to belief in witchcraft, acquiesced in the +decision of Churchmen, which was therefore called the judgment of the +Church; but when he removed himself and his duchess from Rouen, and +left the conduct of the matter to the sterner and harder Beauchamp, +Earl of Warwick, it was with little thought that after-generations would +load his memory with the fate of Jeanne d’Arc, as though her sufferings +had proceeded from his individual malice.</p> +<p>Esclairmonde never saw Bedford again, and only heard through Alice, +now Countess of Salisbury, how when good Duchess Anne was dead, and +her gentle influence removed, Burgundy’s disinclination to the +English cause was no longer balanced; and how Bedford, perplexed, disheartened, +broken in health, but still earnest to propitiate friends for his helpless +nephew, had listened to the wily whisper of the Bishop of Thérouenne, +that his niece, Jaquette, would secure the devotion of the Count de +St. Pol, and that she was moreover like unto another Demoiselle de Luxemburg.</p> +<p>How like, Esclairmonde could judge, when her kinswoman, widowed in +her eighteenth year, at six months’ end, came to London to claim +her dower. Never, since her days of wandering and anxiety, had +Esclairmonde felt such pain as when she perceived how little store the +thoughtless girl had set by the great and noble spirit that had been +quenched under the load of toil and care with which it had battled for +thirteen long years. Faithful, great-hearted Bedford, striving +to uphold a losing cause, to reconcile selfish contentions, to retain +conquests that, though unjustly made, he had no power to relinquish; +and all without one trustworthy relation, with friends and fellow-warriors +dying, disputing, betraying, or deserting, his was as self-devoted and +as mournful a career as ever was run by any prince at any age of the +world; and while he slept in his grave at Rouen, that grave which even +Louis XI. respected, Esclairmonde, as, like a true bedeswoman of St. +Katharine, she joined in the orisons for the repose of the souls of +the royal kindred, never heard the name of the Lord John without a throb +of prayer, and a throb too that warmed her heart with tenderness.</p> +<p>It was some four years later, and the even tenor of Sister Clare’s +course had only been interrupted by her kinswoman, Jaquette, making +her way to her to confess her marriage with Richard Wydville, and to +entreat her intercession with the Luxemburg family; when one summer +night she was called on to attend a pilgrim priest from the Holy Land, +who had been landed from a Flemish vessel, and lay dangerously sick +at the ‘God’s house,’ or hospital, by the river side. +He was thought by his accent to be foreign, and Sister Clare was always +called on to wait upon the stranger.</p> +<p>As she stood by his bedside, she beheld a man of middle age, but +wasted with sickness, and with a certain strange look of horror so imprinted +on his brow, that even as he lay asleep, though his mouth was grave +and peaceful, the lines were still there, and the locks that hung from +around his tonsure were of a whiteness that scarce accorded with the +features. It was a face that Esclairmonde could not look at without +waking strange memories; but it was not till the sleeper awakened, opened +two dark eyes, gazed on her with dreamy doubtful wonder, and then clasped +his hands with the murmured thanksgiving, ‘My God, hast Thou granted +me this? Light of my life!’ that she was assured to whom +she was speaking.</p> +<p>Malcolm Stewart it verily was. Canon Malcolm Stewart of Dunkeld +was his proper title, for he had, as she knew, long ceased to be Lord +of Glenuskie. It was not at first that she knew how he had been +brought where she now saw him; but after some few days of her tender +care and skilful leechcraft, he somewhat rallied, and she gathered his +history from his conversation when he was able to speak.</p> +<p>He had had a time of happy labour in Scotland, fully carrying out +the designs with which he and his cousin James Kennedy had taken upon +them the ministry. Their own birth, and the appointments their +King gave them, so soon as their age permitted, made them able to exert +an influence that told upon the rude and unenlightened clergy around. +It had been almost a mission of conversion, to awaken a spirit of Christianity +in the country, that had so long been a prey to anarchy. The King’s +declaration, ‘I will make the key keep the castle, and the bracken-bush +keep the cow, though I live the life of a dog to bring it about,’ +had been the moving spring of their lives. James had fought hour +by hour with the foul habits of lawlessness, savagery, and violence, +that had hitherto been absolutely unchecked; and while he strove with +the sword of justice, the two young priests worked within the Word of +truth, to implant some sense of conscience in the neglected people.</p> +<p>It had been a life of constant exertion, but full of hope and cheerfulness. +Amid that rude country, James’s own home was always a bright spot +of peace, sunshine, and refinement. With his beloved queen, and +their fair little brood of children, the King cast aside his cares, +and was all, and more than all, he had been as the ornament of Henry’s +Court. There all that was sweet, innocent, and beautiful was to +be found; and there Malcolm, his royal kinsman’s confidant, counsellor, +and chaplain, was always welcome as one of the home circle and family, +till he broke away from such delights to labour in his task of reviving +religion in the land. A little band of men were gathering round, +clergy awakening from their sloth or worldliness, young nobles who began +to see what chivalry meant, burghers who rejoiced in order; and hope +and encouragement strengthened the hands of the three kinsmen.</p> +<p>But, alas! there were those who deemed James’s justice on the +savage prince and noble mere sacrilege on high blood, and who absolutely +hated and loathed peace and order. Those thirteen years of cheerful +progress ended in that murder so unspeakably horrible in all its circumstances, +which almost merits the name of a martyrdom to right and justice. +Malcolm so shuddered when he did but touch on it, and was so rent with +agitation, that Esclairmonde perceived that when his beloved King had +perished, he had indeed received the death-wound to his own fragile +nature.</p> +<p>He had been actually in the Abbey of Perth; and had been one of those +who lifted the mangled corpse from the vault, and sought in vain for +a remnant of life, if but to grant the absolution, for which the victim +had so piteously besought his murderers. No wonder that Fastern’s +E’en had whitened Malcolm’s hair!</p> +<p>But when the assassins were captured, and Joan of Beaufort was resolved +that their death should be as atrocious as their crime, it was Malcolm +who strove to bend her to forgiveness. He bade her recollect King +Henry, and how, when dealing with that cruel monster, the Castellane +of Meaux, he had merely required death, without enhancing the agony; +but Joan, in her rage and misery, had left the Englishwoman behind her, +and was implacable. All that human cruelty could invent was to +be the lot of Robert Graham and his associates; and whereas they had +granted no priest to their victim, none should be granted to them.</p> +<p>And then it was that all Malcolm had learnt of the true spirit of +the Christian triumphed—not only over the dark Keltic spirit of +revenge, but over the shuddering of a tender and pitiful nature. +Where no other priest durst venture, he went. Through all the +frightful and protracted sufferings of Athol, Graham, Hall, and the +rest, it was Malcolm Stewart who, never flinching, prayed with and for +them; gathered their agonized sobs of confession, or strove to soften +their hardness; spoke the words of absolution, and commended their departing +souls.</p> +<p>When he awoke from the long unconsciousness and delirium that ensued +upon the force he had put on himself, he found himself tended by his +sister at Glenuskie. Patrick Drummond had transported him thither; +finding that the angry Queen, in the madness of her vindictiveness, +was well-nigh disposed to connect him with the treasonable designs of +Athol and Graham. He slowly and partially recovered, but his influence +was gone; the Queen would not brook the sound of his name, the little +king was beyond his reach, James Kennedy was biding his time, and the +country was returned to its state of misrule and violence, wherein an +individual priest could do little: yet Malcolm would have held by his +post, had not his health been so utterly shattered that he was incapable +of the work he had hitherto done, as a confessor and a preacher. +And therefore, as the state of his beloved King, ‘sent to his +account unhouselled, disappointed, unannealed,’ hung heavy on +his mind, he determined, so soon as he was in any degree convalescent, +to set forth on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the object of so many dreams +of King Henry; there to offer masses and prayers for the welfare of +his departed prince, as well as of the unhappy murderers, and for the +country in its distracted condition.</p> +<p>And there, at the Holy Sepulchre, had Malcolm, in the fervour of +his heart, offered the greatest treasure he possessed—nay, the +only one that he still really cared for—namely his betrothal ring, +which Esclairmonde had worn for so long and had returned to him. +As a priest, he had deemed that it was not unlawful for him to retain +the memorial of the link that had bound him to her who had been the +light that led him to the true Light beyond; but as youth passed away, +as devotion burned brighter, as the experiences of those years became +more dream-like, and the horror, grief, and misery of his King’s +death had been assuaged only by the steadier contemplation of the Light +of Eternity, he had felt that this last pledge of his once lower aims +and hopes ought to be resigned; and that if it cost him a pang, it was +well that it should be so, to render the offering a sacrifice. +So the ring that had once been Esclairmonde’s protection was laid +on the altar of the Holy Tomb.</p> +<p>There Malcolm had well-nigh died, under the influences of agitation, +fatigue, and climate; but he had revived enough to set out on his return +from his pilgrimage, and had made his way tardily and wearily, losing +his attendants through death and desertion on the road; and passing +from one religious house to another, as his strength and nearly exhausted +means served him. Unable to find any vessel bound for Leith, he +had taken ship for London; concealing his quality, lest, in the always +probable contingency of a war, it might lead to his being made prisoner; +and thus he had arrived, sick indeed unto death, but peaceful, rejoicing, +and hopeful.</p> +<p>‘Sister,’ he said, ‘the morn that I had offered +my ring, I was feeble and faint; and when I knelt on before the altar +in continued prayer—I know not whether I slept or whether it were +a vision, but it was to me as though I were again on the river, and +again the hymn of Bernard of Morlaix was sung around and above me, by +the voice I never thought to hear again. I looked up, and behold +it was I that was in the boat—my King was there no more. +Nay, he stood on the shore, and his eyes beamed on me; while the ghastly +wounds that I once strove in anguish to staunch shone out like a ruby +cross on his breast—the hands, that were so sorely gashed, were +to me as though marked by the impress of the Sacred Wounds. He +spake not; but by his side stood King Henry, beautiful and spirit-like, +and smiled on me, and seemed as though he pointed to the wounds, as +he said, “Blessed is the king who died by his people’s hand, +for withstanding his people’s sin! Blessed is every faint +image of the true King!”</p> +<p>‘Then methought they held out their arms to me; and I would +have come to them on their shore of rest, but the river bore me away—and +I looked up, to find I was as yet only in the earthly Jerusalem; but +I watch for them every hour, to call me once and for ever.’</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> ‘Hail, +reverend brother. I come from Paris.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> Student +of the first year.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> Manners +are lacking to the Northerners.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> Wretches.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> For supper.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a> Telephus +and Peleus, when both are poor and exiled, dismiss boasting and six-foot +words.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7">{7}</a> It is +dispersed in a cloud.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAGED LION***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2573-h.htm or 2573-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/7/2573 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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