CHAPTER III.
A bustling and joyous aspect did the ancient town of Scone present nearthe end of March, 1306. Subdued indeed, and evidently under somerestraint and mystery, which might be accounted for by the near vicinityof the English, who were quartered in large numbers over almost thewhole of Perthshire; some, however, appeared exempt from these mostunwelcome guests. The nobles, esquires, yeomen, and peasants--all, bytheir national garb and eager yet suppressed voices, might be known atonce as Scotsmen right and true.
It had been long, very long since the old quiet town had witnessed suchbusy groups and such eager tongues as on all sides thronged it now; thevery burghers and men of handicraft wore on their countenances tokens ofsomething momentous. There were smiths' shops opening on every side,armorers at work, anvils clanging, spears sharpening, shieldsburnishing, bits and steel saddles and sharp spurs meeting the eye atevery turn. Ever and anon, came a burst of enlivening music, and wellmounted and gallantly attired, attended by some twenty or fiftyfollowers, as may be, would gallop down some knight or noble, his armorflashing back a hundred fold the rays of the setting sun; his silkenpennon displayed, the device of which seldom failed to excite a heartycheer from the excited crowds; his stainless shield and heavy spearborne by his attendant esquires; his vizor up, as if he courted anddared recognition; his surcoat, curiously and tastefully embroidered;his gold or silver-sheathed and hilted sword suspended by the silkensash of many folds and brilliant coloring. On foot or on horseback,these noble cavaliers were continually passing and repassing the ancientstreets, singly or in groups; then there were their followers, allcarefully and strictly armed, in the buff coat plaited with steel, thewell-quilted bonnet, the huge broadsword; Highlanders in their peculiarand graceful costume; even the stout farmers, who might also be foundamongst this motley assemblage, wearing the iron hauberk and sharp swordbeneath their apparently peaceful garb. Friars in their gray frocks andblack cowls, and stately burghers and magistrates, in their velvetcloaks and gold chains, continually mingled their peaceful forms withtheir more warlike brethren, and lent a yet more varied character to thestirring picture.
Varied as were the features of this moving multitude, the expression onevery countenance, noble and follower, yeoman and peasant, burgher andeven monk, was invariably the same--a species of strong yet suppressedexcitement, sometimes shaded by anxiety, sometimes lighted by hope,almost amounting to triumph; sometimes the dark frown of scorn and hatewould pass like a thunder-cloud over noble brows, and the mailed handunconsciously clutched the sword; and then the low thrilling laugh ofderisive contempt would disperse the shade, and the muttered oath ofvengeance drown the voice of execration. It would have been a strangeyet mighty study, the face of man in that old town; but men were all toomuch excited to observe their fellows, to them it was enough--unspoken,unimparted wisdom as it was--to know, to feel, one common feeling boundthat varied mass of men, one mighty interest made them brothers.
The ancient Palace of Scone, so long unused, was now evidently thehead-quarters of the noblemen hovering about the town, for whateverpurpose they were there assembled. The heavy flag of Scotland, in allits massive quarterings, as the symbol of a free unfettered kingdom,waved from the centre tower; archers and spearmen lined the courts,sentinels were at their posts, giving and receiving the watchword fromall who passed and repassed the heavy gates, which from dawn tillnightfall were flung wide open, as if the inmates of that regal dwellingwere ever ready to receive their friends, and feared not the approach offoes.
The sun, though sinking, was still bright, when the slow and dignifiedapproach of the venerable abbot of Scone occasioned some stir and bustleamidst the joyous occupants of the palace yard; the wild joke washushed, the noisy brawl subsided, the games of quoit and hurling the bara while suspended, and the silence of unaffected reverence awaited thegood old man's approach and kindly-given benediction. Leaving hisattendants in one of the lower rooms, the abbot proceeded up the massivestone staircase, and along a broad and lengthy passage, darkly panelledwith thick oak, then pushing aside some heavy arras, stood within one ofthe state chambers, and gave his fervent benison on one within. This wasa man in the earliest and freshest prime of life, that period unitingall the grace and beauty of youth with the mature thought, and steadywisdom, and calmer views of manhood. That he was of noble birth andblood and training one glance sufficed; peculiarly and gloriouslydistinguished in the quiet majesty of his figure, in the mild attemperedgravity of his commanding features. Nature herself seemed to have markedhim out for the distinguished part it was his to play. Already therewere lines of thought upon the clear and open brow, and round the mouth;and the blue eye shone with that calm, steady lustre, which seldom comestill the changeful fire and wild visions of dreamy youth have departed.His hair, of rich and glossy brown, fell in loose natural curls oneither side his face, somewhat lower than his throat, shading hischeeks, which, rather pale than otherwise, added to the somewhat graveaspect of his countenance; his armor of steel, richly and curiouslyinlaid with burnished gold, sat lightly and easily upon his peculiarlytall and manly figure; a sash, of azure silk and gold, suspended hissword, whose sheath was in unison with the rest of his armor, though thehilt was studded with gems. His collar was also of gold, as were hisgauntlets, which with his helmet rested on a table near him; a coronetof plain gold surmounted his helmet, and on his surcoat, which lay on aseat at the further end of the room, might be discerned the rampant lionof Scotland, surmounted by a crown.
The apartment in which he stood, though shorn of much of that splendorwhich, ere the usurping invasion of Edward of England, had distinguishedit, still bore evidence of being a chamber of some state. The hangingswere of dark-green velvet embroidered, and with a very broad fringe ofgold; drapery of the same costly material adorned the broad casements,which stood in heavy frames of oak, black as ebony. Large folding-doors,with panels of the same beautiful material, richly carved, opened intoan ante-chamber, and thence to the grand staircase and more public partsof the building. In this ante-chamber were now assembled pages,esquires, and other officers bespeaking a royal household, though muchless numerous than is generally the case.
"Sir Edward and the young Lord of Douglas have not returned, sayestthou, good Athelbert? Knowest thou when and for what went they forth?"were the words which were spoken by the noble we have described, as theabbot entered, unperceived at first, from his having avoided the publicentrance to the state rooms; they were addressed to an esquire, who,with cap in hand and head somewhat lowered, respectfully awaited thecommands of his master.
"They said not the direction of their course, my liege; 'tis thought toreconnoitre either the movements of the English, or to ascertain thecause of the delay of the Lord of Fife. They departed at sunrise, withbut few followers."
"On but a useless errand, good Athelbert, methinks, an they hope togreet Earl Duncan, save with a host of English at his back. Bid SirEdward hither, should he return ere nightfall, and see to the instantdelivery of those papers; I fear me, the good lord bishop has waited forthem; and stay--Sir Robert Keith, hath he not yet returned?"
"No, good my lord."
"Ha! he tarrieth long," answered the noble, musingly. "Now heavenforefend no evil hath befallen him; but to thy mission, Athelbert, Imust not detain thee with doubts and cavil. Ha! reverend father, rightwelcome," he added, perceiving him as he turned again to the table, onthe esquire reverentially withdrawing from his presence, and bending hishead humbly in acknowledgment of the abbot's benediction. "Thou findestme busied as usual. Seest thou," he pointed to a rough map of Scotlandlying before him, curiously intersected with mystic lines and crosses,"Edinburgh, Berwick, Roxburgh, Lanark, Stirling, Dumbarton, in the powerof, nay peopled, by English. Argyle on the west, Elgin, Aberdeen, withBanff eastward, teeming with proud, false Scots, hereditary foes to theBruce, false traitors to their land; the north--why, 'tis the same foultale; and yet I dare to raise my banner, dare to wear the crown, andfling defiance in the teeth of all. What sayest
thou, father--is't not amadman's deed?"
All appearance of gravity vanished from his features as he spoke. Hiseye, seemingly so mild, flashed till its very color could not have beendistinguished, his cheek glowed, his lip curled, and his voice, everpeculiarly rich and sonorous, deepened with the excitement of soul.
"Were the fate of man in his own hands, were it his and his alone tomake or mar his destiny, I should e'en proclaim thee mad, my son, andseek to turn thee from thy desperate purpose; but it is not so. Man isbut an instrument, and He who urged thee to this deed, who wills notthis poor land to rest enslaved, will give thee strength and wisdom forits freedom. His ways are not as man's; and circled as thou seemest withfoes, His strength shall bring thee forth and gird thee with His glory.Thou wouldst not turn aside, my son--thou fearest not thy foes?"
"Fear! holy father: it is a word unknown to the children of the Bruce! Ido but smile at mine extensive kingdom--of some hundred acres square;smile at the eagerness with which they greet me liege and king, as ifthe words, so long unused, should now do double duty for long absence."
"And better so, my son," answered the old man, cheerfully. "Devotion toher destined savior argues well for bonny Scotland; better do homageunto thee as liege and king, though usurpation hath abridged thykingdom, than to the hireling of England's Edward, all Scotland at hisfeet. Men will not kneel to sceptred slaves, nor freemen fight fortyrants' tools. Sovereign of Scotland thou art, thou shalt be, Robertthe Bruce! Too long hast thou kept back; but now, if arms can fight andhearts can pray, thou shalt be king of Scotland."
The abbot spoke with a fervor, a spirit which, though perhaps littleaccordant with his clerical character, thrilled to the Bruce's heart. Hegrasped the old man's hand.
"Holy father," he said, "thou wouldst inspire hearts with ardor needinginspiration more than mine; and to me thou givest hope, and confidence,and strength. Too long have I slept and dreamed," his countenancedarkened, and his voice was sadder; "fickle in purpose, uncertain inaccomplishment; permitting my youth to moulder 'neath the blastingatmosphere of tyranny. Yet will I now atone for the neglected past.Atone! aye, banish it from the minds of men. My country hath a claim, adouble claim upon me; she calls upon me, trumpet-tongued, to arise,avenge her, and redeem my misspent youth. Nor shall she call on me invain, so help me, gracious heaven!"
"Amen," fervently responded the abbot; and the king continued morehurriedly--
"And that stain, that blot, father? Is there mercy in heaven to wash itsdarkness from my soul, or must it linger there forever preying on myspirit, dashing e'en its highest hopes and noblest dreams with poison,whispering its still voice of accusation, even when loudest rings thepraise and love of men? Is there no rest for this, no silence for thatwhisper? Penitence, atonement, any thing thou wilt, let but my soul befree!" Hastily, and with step and countenance disordered, he traversedthe chamber, his expressive countenance denoting the strife within.
"It was, in truth, a rash and guilty deed, my son," answered the abbot,gravely, yet mildly, "and one that heaven in its justice will scarcepass unavenged. Man hath given thee the absolution accorded to the trueand faithful penitent, for such thou art; yet scarcely dare we hopeoffended heaven is appeased. Justice will visit thee with trouble--sore,oppressing, grievous trouble. Yet despair not: thou wilt come forth thepurer, nobler, brighter, from the fire; despair not, but as a childreceive a father's chastening; lean upon that love, which wills notdeath, but penitence and life; that love, which yet will bring theeforth and bless this land in thee. My son, be comforted; His mercy isyet greater than thy sin."
"And blest art thou, my father, for these _blessed_ words; a messengerin truth thou art of peace and love; and oh, if prayers and penitenceavail, if sore temptation may be pleaded, I shall, I shall be pardoned.Yet would I give my dearest hopes of life, of fame, of all--saveScotland's freedom--that this evil had not chanced; that blood, hisblood--base traitor as he was--was not upon my hand."
"And can it be thou art such craven, Robert, as to repent a Comyn'sdeath--a Comyn, and a traitor--e'en though his dastard blood be on thyhand?--bah! An' such deeds weigh heavy on thy mind, a friar's cowl werebetter suited to thy brow than Scotland's diadem."
The speaker was a tall, powerful man, somewhat younger in appearancethan the king, but with an expression of fierceness and haughty pride,contrasting powerfully with the benevolent and native dignity which socharacterized the Bruce. His voice was as harsh as his manner wasabrupt; yet that he was brave, nay, rash in his unthinking daring, avery transient glance would suffice to discover.
"I forgive thee thine undeserved taunt, Edward," answered the king,calmly, though the hot blood rushed up to his cheek and brow. "I trust,ere long, to prove thy words are as idle as the mood which promptedthem. I feel not that repentance cools the patriot fire which urges meto strike for Scotland's weal--that sorrow for a hated crime unfits mefor a warrior. I would not Comyn lived, but that he had met a traitor'sfate by other hands than mine; been judged--condemned, as his blacktreachery called for; even for our country's sake, it had been betterthus."
"Thou art over-scrupulous, my liege and brother, and I too hasty,"replied Sir Edward Bruce, in the same bold, careless tone. "Yet beshrewme, but I think that in these times a sudden blow and hasty fate theonly judgment for a traitor. The miscreant were too richly honored, thatby thy royal hand he fell."
"My son, my son, I pray thee, peace," urged the abbot, in accents ofcalm, yet grave authority. "As minister of heaven, I may not list suchwords. Bend not thy brow in wrath, clad as thou art in mail, in youthfulmight; yet in my Maker's cause this withered frame is stronger yet thanthou art. Enough of that which hath been. Thy sovereign spoke in lowlypenitence to me--to me, who frail and lowly unto thee, am yet theminister of Him whom sin offends. To thee he stands a warrior and aking, who rude irreverence may brook not, even from his brother. Bepeace between us, then, my son; an old man's blessing on thy fierce yetknightly spirit rest."
With a muttered oath Sir Edward had strode away at the abbot's firstwords, but the cloud passed from his brow as he concluded, and slightly,yet with something of reverence, he bowed his head.
"And whither didst thou wend thy way, my fiery brother?" demandedRobert. "Bringest thou aught of news, or didst thou and Douglas but setfoot in stirrup and hand on rein simply from weariness of quiet?"
"In sober truth, 'twas even so; partly to mark the movements of theEnglish, an they make a movement, which, till Pembroke come, they areall too much amazed to do; partly to see if in truth that poltroonDuncan of Fife yet hangs back and still persists in forswearing theloyalty of his ancestors, and leaving to better hands the proud task ofplacing the crown of Scotland on thy head."
"And thou art convinced at last that such and such only is hisintention?" The knight nodded assent, and Bruce continued, jestingly,"And so thou mightst have been long ago, my sage brother, hadst thoulistened to me. I tell thee Earl Duncan hath a spite against me, not fordaring to raise the standard of freedom and proclaim myself a king, butfor very hatred of myself. Nay, hast thou not seen it thyself, when,fellow-soldiers, fellow-seekers of the banquet, tournay, or ball, hehath avoided, shunned me? and why should he seek me now?"
"Why? does not Scotland call him, Scotland bid him gird his sword anddon his mail? Will not the dim spectres of his loyal line start fromtheir very tombs to call him to thy side, or brand him traitor andpoltroon, with naught of Duff about him but the name? Thou smilest."
"At thy violence, good brother. Duncan of Fife loves better the silkencords of peace and pleasure, e'en though those silken threads hidechains, than the trumpet's voice and weight of mail. In England bred,courted, flattered by her king, 'twere much too sore a trouble to excitehis anger and lose his favor; and for whom, for what?--to crown the manhe hateth from his soul?"
"And knowest thou wherefore, good my son, in what thou hast offended?"
"Offended, holy father? Nay, in naught unless perchance a servicerendered when a boy--a simple service, merely that of saving l
ife--hathrendered him the touchy fool he is. But hark! who comes?"
The tramping of many horses, mingled with the eager voices of men,resounded from the courtyard as he spoke, and Sir Edward strode hastilyto the casement. "Sir Robert Keith returned!" he exclaimed, joyfully;"and seemingly right well attended. Litters too--bah! we want no morewomen. 'Tis somewhat new for Keith to be a squire of dames. Why, whatbanner is this? The black bear of Buchan--impossible! the earl is a foulComyn. I'll to the court, for this passes my poor wits." He turnedhastily to quit the chamber, as a youth entered, not without someopposition, it appeared, from the attendants without, but eagerly he hadburst through them, and flung his plumed helmet from his beautiful brow,and, after glancing hastily round the room, bounded to the side ofRobert, knelt at his feet, and clasped his knees without uttering asyllable, voiceless from an emotion whose index was stamped upon hisglowing features.
"Nigel, by all that's marvellous, and as moon-stricken as his wont! Why,where the foul fiend hast thou sprung from? Art dumb, thou foolish boy?By St. Andrew, these are times to act and speak, not think and feel!Whence comest thou?"
So spoke the impatient Edward, to whom the character of his youngestbrother had ever been a riddle, which it had been too much trouble toexpound, and that which it _seemed_ to his too careless thought he everlooked upon with scorn and contempt. Not so, King Robert; he raised himaffectionately in his arms, and pressed him to his heart.
"Thou'rt welcome, most, most welcome, Nigel; as welcome as unlooked for.But why this quick return from scenes and studies more congenial to thygentle nature, my young brother? this fettered land is scarce a home forthee; thy free, thy fond imaginings can scarce have resting here." Hespoke sadly, and his smile unwittingly was sorrowful.
"And thinkest thou, Robert--nay, forgive me, good my liege--thinkestthou, because I loved the poet's dream, because I turned, in sad andlonely musing, from King Edward's court, I loved the cloister betterthan the camp? Oh, do me not such wrong! thou knowest not the guidingsof my heart; nor needs it now, my sword shall better plead my cause thancan my tongue." He turned away deeply and evidently pained, and a halflaugh from Sir Edward prevented the king's reply.
"Well crowed, my pretty fledgling," he said, half jesting, half inscorn. "But knowest thou, to fight in very earnest is somethingdifferent than to read and chant it in a minstrel's lay? Better hie theeback to Florence, boy; the mail suit and crested helm are not for suchas thee--better shun them now, than after they are donned."
"How! darest thou, Edward? Edward, tempt me not too far," exclaimedNigel, his cheek flushing, and springing towards him, his hand upon hishalf-drawn sword. "By heaven, wert thou not my mother's son, I wouldcompel thee to retract these words, injurious, unjust! How darest thoujudge me coward, till my cowardice is proved? Thy blood is not more redthan mine."
"Peace, peace! what meaneth this unseemly broil?" said Robert, hastilyadvancing between them, for the dark features of Edward were lowering inwrath, and Nigel was excited to unwonted fierceness. "Edward, begone!and as thou saidst, see to Sir Robert Keith--what news he brings. Nigel,on thy love, thy allegiance so lately proffered, if I read thy greetingright, I pray thee heed not his taunting words. I do not doubt thee;'twas for thy happiness, not for thy gallantry, I trembled. Look notthus dejected;" he held out his hand, which his brother knelt to salute."Nay, nay, thou foolish boy, forget my new dignity a while, and now thatrude brawler has departed, tell me in sober wisdom, how camest thouhere? How didst thou know I might have need of thee?" A quick blushsuffused the cheek of the young man; he hesitated, evidently confused."Why, what ails thee, boy? By St. Andrew, Nigel, I do believe thou hastnever quitted Scotland."
"And if I have not, my lord, what wilt thou deem me?"
"A very strangely wayward boy, not knowing his own mind," replied theking, smiling. "Yet why should I say so? I never asked thy confidence,never sought it, or in any way returned or appreciated thy boyish love,and why should I deem thee wayward, never inquiring into thyprojects--passing thee by, perchance, as a wild visionary, much happierthan myself?"
"And thou wilt think me yet more a visionary, I fear me, Robert; yetthine interest is too dear to pass unanswered," rejoined Nigel, afterglancing round and perceiving they were alone, for the abbot haddeparted with Sir Edward, seeking to tame his reckless spirit.
"Know, then, to aid me in keeping aloof from the tyrant of my country,whom instinctively I hated, I confined myself to books and such lore yetmore than my natural inclination prompted, though that was strongenough--I had made a solemn vow, rather to take the monk's cowl andfrock, than receive knighthood from the hand of Edward of England, orraise my sword at his bidding. My whole soul yearned towards the countryof my fathers, that country which was theirs by royal right; and whenthe renown of Wallace reached my ears, when, in my waking and sleepingdreams, I beheld the patriot struggling for freedom, peace, the only onewhose arm had struck for Scotland, whose tongue had dared to speakresistance, I longed wildly, intensely, vainly, to burst the thraldomwhich held my race, and seek for death beneath the patriot banner. Ilonged, yet dared not. My own death were welcome; but mother, father,brothers, sisters, all were perilled, had I done so. I stood, I deemed,alone in my enthusiast dreams; those I loved best, acknowledged, bowedbefore the man my very spirit loathed; and how dared I, a boy, a child,stand forth arraigning and condemning? But wherefore art thou thus,Robert? oh, what has thus moved thee?"
Wrapped in his own earnest words and thoughts, Nigel had failed untilthat moment to perceive the effect of his words upon his brother.Robert's head had sunk upon his hand, and his whole frame shook beneathsome strong emotion; evidently striving to subdue it, some momentselapsed ere he could reply, and then only in accents of bitterself-reproach. "Why, why did not such thoughts come to me, instead ofthee?" he said. "My youth had not wasted then in idle folly--worse, oh,worse--in slavish homage, coward indecision, flitting like the motharound the destructive flame; and while I deemed thee buried in romanticdreams, all a patriot's blood was rushing in thy veins, while mine wasdull and stagnant."
"But to flow forth the brighter, my own brother," interrupted Nigel,earnestly. "Oh, I have watched thee, studied thee, even as I loved thee,long; and I have hoped, felt, _known_ that this day would dawn; thatthou _wouldst_ rise for Scotland, and she would rise for thee. Ah, nowthou smilest as thyself, and I will to my tale. The patriot died--let menot utter how; no Scottish tongue should speak those words, save withthe upraised arm and trumpet shout of vengeance! I could not rest inEngland then; I could not face the tyrant who dared proclaim and executeas traitor the noblest hero, purest patriot, that ever walked thisearth. But men said I sought the lyric schools, the poet's haunts inProvence, and I welcomed the delusion; but it was to Scotland that Icame, unknown, and silently, to mark if with her Wallace all life andsoul had fled. I saw enough to know that were there but a fitting head,her hardy sons would struggle yet for freedom--but not yet; that chiefart thou, and at the close of the last year I took passage to Denmark,intending to rest there till Scotland called me."
"And 'tis thence thou comest, Nigel? Can it be, intelligence of mymovements hath reached so far north already?" inquired the king,somewhat surprised at the abruptness of his brother's pause.
"Not so, my liege. The vessel which bore me was wrecked off the breakersof Buchan, and cast me back again to the arms of Scotland. I foundhospitality, shelter, kindness; nay more, were this a time and place tospeak of happy, trusting love--" he added, turning away from the Bruce'spenetrating eye, "and week after week passed, and found me still aninmate of the Tower of Buchan."
"Buchan!" interrupted the king, hastily; "the castle of a Comyn, andthou speakest of love!"
"Of as true, as firm-hearted a Scottish patriot, my liege, as ever livedin the heart of woman--one that has naught of Comyn about her or herfair children but the name, as speedily thou wilt have proof. But ingood time is my tale come to a close, for hither comes good Sir Robert,and other noble knights, who, by their eager brows, methinks
, havematters of graver import for thy grace's ear."
They entered as he spoke. The patriot nobles who, at the first call oftheir rightful king, had gathered round his person, few in number, yetfirm in heart, ready to lay down fame, fortune, life, beside hisstandard, rather than acknowledge the foreign foe, who, setting asideall principles of knightly honor, knightly faith, sought to claim theircountry as his own, their persons as his slaves. Eager was the greetingof each and all to the youthful Nigel, mingled with some surprise. Theirconference with the king was but brief, and as it comprised matters moreof speculation than of decided import, we will pass on to a later periodof the same evening.
The Days of Bruce Vol 1 Page 3
