CHAPTER V.
Brightly and blithely dawned the 26th of March, 1306, for the loyalinhabitants of Scone. Few who might gaze on the olden city, and markedthe flags and pennons waving gayly and proudly on every side; the richtapestry flung over balconies or hung from the massive windows, in everystreet; the large branches of oak and laurel, festooned with gayribands, that stood beside the entrance of every house which boasted anyconsequence; the busy citizens in goodly array, with their wives andfamilies, bedecked to the best of their ability, all, as inspired by onespirit, hurrying in the direction of the abbey yard, joining the merryclamor of eager voices to the continued peal of every bell of which theold town could boast, sounding loud and joyously even above the roll ofthe drum or the shrill trumpet call;--those who marked these thingsmight well believe Scotland was once again the same free land, whichhad hailed in the same town the coronation of Alexander the Third, someyears before. Little would they deem that the foreign foeman stillthronged her feudal holds and cottage homes, that they waited but thecommands of their monarch, to pour down on all sides upon the daringindividual who thus boldly assumed the state and solemn honor of a king,and, armed but by his own high heart and a handful of loyal followers,prepared to resist, defend, and _free_, or _die_ for Scotland.
There was silence--deep, solemn, yet most eloquent silence, reigning inthe abbey church of Scone. The sun shining in that full flood of glorywe sometimes find in the infant spring, illumined as with golden lustrethe long, narrow casements, falling thence in flickering brilliance onthe pavement floor, its rays sometimes arrested, to revolve inheightened lustre from the glittering sword or the suit of half-mail ofone or other of the noble knights assembled there. The rich plate of theabbey, all at least which had escaped the cupidity of Edward, wasarranged with care upon the various altars; in the centre of the churchwas placed the abbot's oaken throne, which was to supply the place ofthe ancient stone, the coronation seat of the Scottish kings--no longerthere, its absence felt by one and all within that church as the closingseal to Edward's infamy--the damning proof that as his slave, not as hissister kingdom, he sought to render Scotland. From the throne to thehigh altar, where the king was to receive the eucharist, a carpet ofrichly-brocaded Genoa velvet was laid down; a cushion of the sameelegantly-wrought material marked the place beside the spot where he wasto kneel. Priests, in their richest vestments, officiated at the highaltar; six beautiful boys, bearing alternately a large waxen candle, andthe golden censers filled with the richest incense, stood beside them,while opposite the altar and behind the throne, in an elevated gallery,were ranged the seventy choristers of the abbey, thirty of whom wereyouthful novices; behind them a massive screen or curtain of tapestryconcealed the organ, and gave a yet more startling and thrilling effectto its rich deep tones, thus bursting, as it were, from spheres unseen.
The throne was already occupied by the patriot king, clothed in hisrobes of state; his inner dress was a doublet and vest of white velvet,slashed with cloth of silver; his stockings, fitting tight to the knee,were of the finest woven white silk, confined where they met the doubletwith a broad band of silver; his shoes of white velvet, broidered withsilver, in unison with his dress; a scarf of cloth of silver passed overhis right shoulder, fastened there by a jewelled clasp, and, crossinghis breast, secured his trusty sword to his left side; his head, ofcourse, was bare, and his fair hair, parted carefully on his arched andnoble brow, descended gracefully on either side; his countenance wasperfectly calm, unexpressive of aught save of a deep sense of the solemnservice in which he was engaged. There was not the faintest trace ofeither anxiety or exultation--naught that could shadow the brows of hisfollowers, or diminish by one particle the love and veneration which inevery heart were rapidly gaining absolute dominion.
On the right of the king stood the Abbot of Scone, the Archbishop of St.Andrew's, and Bishop of Glasgow, all of which venerable prelates hadinstantaneously and unhesitatingly declared for the Bruce; ranged oneither side of the throne, according more to seniority than rank, wereseated the brothers of the Bruce and the loyal barons who had joined hisstandard. Names there were already famous in the annals ofpatriotism--Fraser, Lennox, Athol, Hay--whose stalwart arms had so noblystruck for Wallace, whose steady minds had risen superior to the pettyemotions of jealousy and envy which had actuated so many of similarrank. These were true patriots, and gladly and freely they once morerose for Scotland. Sir Christopher Seaton, brother-in-law to the Bruce,Somerville, Keith, St. Clair, the young Lord Douglas, and ThomasRandolph, the king's nephew, were the most noted of those now around theBruce; yet on that eventful day not more than fourteen barons weremustered round their sovereign, exclusive of his four gallant brothers,who were in themselves a host. All these were attired with the care andgallantry their precarious situation permitted; half armor, concealed byflowing scarfs and graceful mantles, or suits of gayer seeming among theyounger knights, for those of the barons' followers of gentle blood andchivalric training were also admitted within the church, forming agoodly show of gallant men. Behind them, on raised seats, which weredivided from the body of the church by an open railing of ebony, satethe ladies of the court, the seat of the queen distinguished from therest by its canopy and cushion of embroidered taffeta, and amongstthose gentle beings fairest and loveliest shone the maiden of Buchan, asshe sate in smiling happiness between the youthful daughter of theBruce, the Princess Margory, and his niece, the Lady Isoline, childrenof ten and fourteen, who already claimed her as their companion andfriend.
The color was bright on the soft cheek of Agnes, the smile laughed alikein her lip and eye; for ever and anon, from amidst the courtly crowdbeneath, the deep blue orb of Nigel Bruce met hers, speaking in itspassioned yet respectful gaze, all that could whisper joy and peace untoa heart, young, loving, and confiding, as that of Agnes. The eveningprevious he had detached the blue riband which confined her flowingcurls, and it was with a feeling of pardonable pride she beheld itsuspended from his neck, even in that hour, when his rich habilimentsand the imposing ceremony of the day marked him the brother of a king.Her brother, too, was at his side, gazing upon his sovereign withfeelings, whose index, marked as it was on his brow, gave him theappearance of being older than he was. It was scarcely the excitement ofa mere boy, who rejoiced in the state and dignity around him; theemotion of his mother had sunk upon his very soul, subduing the wildbuoyancy of his spirit, and bidding him feel deeply and sadly thesituation in which he stood. It seemed to him as if he had never thoughtbefore, and now that reflection had come upon him, it was fraught with aweight and gloom he could not remove and scarcely comprehend. He felt nopower on earth could prevent his taking the only path which was open tothe true patriot of Scotland, and in following that path he raised thestandard of revolt, and enlisted his own followers against his father.Till the moment of action he had dreamed not of these things; but thedeep anxieties, the contending feelings of his mother, which, despiteher controlled demeanor, his heart perceived, could not but have theireffect; and premature manhood was stealing fast upon his heart.
Upon the left of the king, and close beside his throne, stood theCountess of Buchan, attired in robes of the darkest crimson velvet, witha deep border of gold, which swept the ground, and long falling sleeveswith a broad fringe; a thick cord of gold and tassels confined the robearound the waist, and thence fell reaching to her feet, and well-nighconcealing the inner dress of white silk, which was worn to permit therobes falling easily on either side, and thus forming a long trainbehind. Neither gem nor gold adorned her beautiful hair; a veil wastwisted in its luxuriant tresses, and served the purpose of the matron'scoif. She was pale and calm, but such was the usual expression of hercountenance, and perhaps accorded better with the dignified majesty ofher commanding figure than a greater play of feature. It was not thecalmness of insensibility, of vacancy, it was the still reflection of acontrolled and chastened soul, of one whose depth and might was knownbut to-herself.
The pealing anthem for a while had ceased
, and it was as if that churchwas desolate, as if the very hearts that throbbed so quickly for theircountry and their king were hushed a while and stilled, that every wordwhich passed between the sovereign and the primate should be heard.Kneeling before him, his hands placed between those of the archbishop,the king, in a clear and manly voice, received, as it were, the kingdomfrom his hands, and swore to govern according to the laws of hisancestors; to defend the liberties of his people alike from the foreignand the civil foe; to dispense justice; to devote life itself torestoring Scotland to her former station in the scale of kingdoms.Solemnly, energetically, he took the required vows; his cheek flushed,his eye glistened, and ere he rose he bent his brow upon his spreadhands, as if his spirit supplicated strength, and the primate, standingover him, blessed him, in a loud voice, in the name of Him whose lowlyminister he was.
A few minutes, and the king was again seated on his throne, and from thehands of the Bishop of Glasgow, the Countess of Buchan received thesimple coronet of gold, which had been hastily made to supply the placeof that which Edward had removed. It was a moment of intense interest:every eye was directed towards the king and the dauntless woman by hisside, who, rather than the descendant of Malcolm Cean Mohr should demandin vain the service from the descendants of the brave Macduff, exposedherself to all the wrath of a fierce and cruel king, the fury of anincensed husband and brother, and in her own noble person representedthat ancient and most loyal line. Were any other circumstance needed toenhance the excitement of the patriots of Scotland, they would havefound it in this. As it was, a sudden, irrepressible burst of applausebroke from many eager voices as the bishop placed the coronet in herhands, but one glance from those dark, eloquent eyes sufficed to hushit on the instant into stillness.
Simultaneously all within the church stood up, and gracefully andsteadily, with a hand which trembled not, even to the observant andanxious eyes of her son, Isabella of Buchan placed the sacred symbol ofroyalty on the head of Scotland's king; and then arose, as with onevoice, the wild enthusiastic shout of loyalty, which, bursting from allwithin the church, was echoed again and again from without, almostdrowning the triumphant anthem which at the same moment sent its rich,hallowed tones through the building, and proclaimed Robert Bruce indeeda king.
Again and yet again the voice of triumph and of loyalty arosehundred-tongued, and sent its echo even to the English camp; and when itceased, when slowly, and as it were reluctantly, it died away, it was agrand and glorious sight to see those stern and noble barons one by oneapproach their sovereign's throne and do him homage.
It was not always customary for the monarchs of those days to receivethe feudal homage of their vassals the same hour of their coronation, itwas in general a distinct and almost equally gorgeous ceremony; but inthis case both the king and barons felt it better policy to unite them;the excitement attendant on the one ceremonial they felt would preventthe deficiency of numbers in the other being observed, and they actedwisely.
There was a dauntless firmness in each baron's look, in his manlycarriage and unwavering step, as one by one he traversed the spacebetween him and the throne, seeming to proclaim that in himself he heldindeed a host. To adhere to the usual custom of paying homage to thesuzerain bareheaded, barefooted, and unarmed, the embroidered slipperhad been adopted by all instead of the iron boot; and as he knelt beforethe throne, the Earl of Lennox, for, first in rank, he first approachedhis sovereign, unbuckling his trusty sword, laid it, together with hisdagger, at Robert's feet, and placing his clasped hands between those ofthe king, repeated, in a deep sonorous voice, the solemn vow--to liveand die with him against all manner of men. Athol, Fraser, Seaton,Douglas, Hay, gladly and willingly followed his example; and it wascurious to mark the character of each man, proclaimed in his mien andhurried step.
The calm, controlled, and somewhat thoughtful manner of those grown wisein war, their bold spirits feeling to the inmost soul the whole extentof the risk they run, scarcely daring to anticipate the freedom of theircountry, the emancipation of their king from the heavy yoke thatthreatened him, and yet so firm in the oath they pledged, that haddestruction yawned before them ere they reached the throne, they wouldhave dared it rather than turned back--and then again those hot andeager youths, feeling, knowing but the excitement of the hour, believingbut as they hoped, seeing but a king, a free and independent king,bounding from their seats to the monarch's feet, regardless of thesolemn ceremonial in which they took a part, desirous only, in the wordsof their oath, to live and die for him--caused a brighter flush tomantle on King Robert's cheek, and his eyes to shine with new andradiant light. None knew better than himself the perils that encircledhim, yet there was a momentary glow of exultation in his heart as helooked on the noble warriors, the faithful friends around him, and feltthat they, even they, representatives of the oldest, the noblest housesin Scotland--men famed not alone for their gallant bearing in war, buttheir fidelity and wisdom, and unstained honor and virtue in peace--eventhey acknowledged him their king, and vowed him that allegiance whichwas never known to fail.
Alan of Buchan was the last of that small yet noble train who approachedhis sovereign. There was a hot flush of impetuous feeling on the boy'scheek, an indignant tear trembled in his dark flashing eye, and hisvoice, sweet, thrilling as it was, quivered with the vain effort torestrain his emotion.
"Sovereign of Scotland," he exclaimed, "descendant of that glorious lineof kings to whom my ancestors have until this dark day vowed homage andallegiance; sovereign of all good and faithful men, on whose inmostsouls the name of Scotland is so indelibly writ, that even in death itmay there be found, refuse not thou my homage. I have but my sword, note'en a name of which to boast, yet hear me swear," he raised his claspedhands towards heaven, "swear that for thee, for my country, for theealone, will I draw it, alone shall my life be spent, my blood be shed.Reject me not because my name is Comyn, because I alone am here of thatonce loyal house. Oh! condemn me not; reject not untried a loyal heartand trusty sword."
"Reject thee," said King Robert, laying his hand kindly on the boy'sshoulder; "reject thee, young soldier," he said, cheeringly: "in Alan ofBuchan we see but the noble son of our right noble countrywoman, theLady Isabella; we see in him but a worthy descendant of Macduff, thenoble scion, though but by the mother's side, of the loyal house ofFife. Young as thou art, we ask of thee but the heart and sword whichthou hast so earnestly proffered, nor can we, son of Isabella of Fife,doubt their honesty and truth; thou shalt earn a loyal name for thyself,and till then, as the brother in arms, the chosen friend of Nigel Bruce,all shall respect and trust thee. We confer knighthood on twenty of ouryouthful warriors seven days hence; prepare thyself to receive it withour brother: enough for us to know thou hast learned the art of chivalryat thy mother's hand."
Dazzled, bewildered by the benign manner, and yet more gracious words ofhis sovereign, the young heir of Buchan remained kneeling for a briefspace, as if rooted to the ground, but the deep earnest voice of hismother, the kind greeting of Nigel Bruce, as he grasped his arm, andhailed him companion in arms, roused him at once, and he sprung to hisfeet; the despondency, shame, doubt, anxiety which like lead had weigheddown his heart before, dissolved before the glad, buoyant spirit, thebright, free, glorious hopes, and dreams, and visions which are known toyouth alone.
Stentorian and simultaneous was the eager shout that hailed theappearance of the newly-anointed king, as he paused a moment on thegreat stone staircase, leading from the principal doors of the abbey tothe abbey yard. For miles round, particularly from those counties whichwere but thinly garrisoned by the English, the loyal Scots had poured atthe first rumor of the Bruce's rising, and now a rejoicing multitudewelcomed him with one voice, the execrations against their foesforgotten in this outpouring of the heart towards their native prince.
Inspired by this heartfelt greeting, the king advanced a few paces onthe stone terrace, and raised his right hand, as if about to speak; onthe instant every shout was hushed, and silence fell upon tha
t eagermultitude, as deep and voiceless as if some mighty magic chained themspell-bound where they stood, their very breathing hushed, fearful tolose one word.
Many an aged eye grew dim with tears, as it rested on the fair andgraceful form, the beautifully expressive face of him, who, witheloquent fervor, referred to the ancient glory of their country; tearsof joy, for they felt they looked upon the good genius of their land,that she was raised from her dejected stupor, to sleep a slave no more;and the middle-aged and the young, with deafening shouts and eagergestures, swore to give him the crown, the kingdom he demanded, free,unshackled as his ancestors had borne them, or die around him to a man;and blessings and prayers in woman's gentler voice mingled with theswelling cry, and little children caught the Bruce's name and bade "Godbless him," and others, equally impetuous shouted "Bruce and freedom!"
"Love, obey, follow me, for Scotland's sake; noble or gentle, let allprivate feud be forgotten in this one great struggle for liberty ordeath. Thus," he concluded, "united and faithful, the name of Wallace oneach lip, the weal of Scotland in each heart, her mountains our shield,her freedom our sword, shall we, can we fail? No! no! Scotland shall befree, or her green sod and mountain flowers shall bloom upon our graves.I have no crown save that which Scotland gives, no kingdom save whatyour swords shall conquer, and your hearts bestow; with you I live anddie."
In the midst of the shouts and unrestrained clamor succeeding thiseloquent address, the fiery chargers of the king and his attendantbarons and esquires were led to the foot of the staircase. And a fairand noble sight was the royal _cortege_ as slowly it passed through theold town, with banners flying, lances gleaming, and the rich swell oftriumphant music echoing on the air. Nobles and dames mingledindiscriminately together. Beautiful palfreys or well-trained glossymules, richly caparisoned, gracefully guided by the dames and maidens,bore their part well amid the more fiery chargers of their companions.The queen rode at King Robert's left hand, the primate of Scotland athis right, Lennox, Seaton, and Hay thronged around the Countess ofBuchan, eager to pay her that courteous homage which she now no longerrefused, and willingly joined in their animated converse. The Lady MaryCampbell and her sister Lady Seaton found an equally gallant and willingescort, as did the other noble dames; but none ventured to dispute thepossession of the maiden of Buchan with the gallant Nigel, who, ridingclose at her bridle rein, ever and anon whispered some magic words thatcalled a blush to her cheek and a smile on her lip, their attentioncalled off now and then by some wild jest or courteous word from theyoung Lord Douglas, whose post seemed in every part of the royal train;now galloping to the front, to caracole by the side of the queen, toaccustom her, he said, to the sight of good horsemanship, then lingeringbeside the Countess of Buchan, to give some unexpected rejoinder to thegraver maxims of Lennox. The Princess Margory, her cousins, the LadyIsoline Campbell and Alice and Christina Seaton, escorted by Alan ofBuchan, Walter Fitz-Alan, Alexander Fraser, and many other youngesquires, rejoicing in the task assigned them.
It was a gay and gorgeous sight, and beautiful the ringing laugh andsilvery voice of youth. No dream of desponding dread shadowed theirhearts, though danger and suffering, and defeat and death, were darklygathering round them. Who, as he treads the elastic earth, fresh withthe breeze of day, as he gazes on the cloudless blue of the circlingsky, or the dazzling rays of the morning sun, as the hum of happy lifeis round him--who is there thinks of the silence, and darkness, andtempest that come in a few brief hours, on the shadowy pinions of night?
The Days of Bruce Vol 1 Page 5
