CHAPTER VIII.
It was the month of June, and the beautiful county of Perth smiled inall the richness and loveliness of early summer. Not yet had the signalof war floated on the pure springy breeze, not yet had the stains ofblood desecrated the gladsome earth, although the army of De Valence wasnow within very few miles of Scone, which was still the head-quarters ofthe Scottish king. Aware of the very great disparity of numbers betweenhis gallant followers and those of Pembroke, King Robert preferredentrenching himself in his present guarded situation, to meeting DeValence in the open field, although, more than once tempted to do so,and finding extreme difficulty in so curbing the dauntless spirit of hisfollowers as to incline them more towards the defensive than the attack.Already had the fierce thunders of the Church been launched against himfor the sin of murder committed in consecrated ground. Excommunicationin all its horrors exposed him to death from any hand, that on anypretence of private hate or public weal might choose to strike; butalready had there arisen spirits bold enough to dispute the awfulmandates of the Pope, and the patriotic prelates who had beforeacknowledged and done homage to their sovereign, now neither wavered intheir allegiance nor in any way sought to promulgate the sentencethundered against him. A calm smile had passed over the Bruce's noblefeatures as the intelligence of the wrath of Rome was communicated tohim.
"The judge and the avenger is in heaven, holy father," he said; "to Hishands I commit my cause, conscious of deserving, as humbly awaiting,chastisement for that sin which none can reprobate and abhor morestrongly than myself; if blood must flow for blood, His will be done. Iask but to free my country, to leave her in powerful yet righteoushands, and willingly I will depart, confident of mercy for my soul."
Fearful, however, that this sentence might dispirit his subjects, KingRobert watched his opportunity of assembling and addressing them. In abrief, yet eloquent speech, he narrated the base, cold-blooded system oftreachery of Comyn; how, when travelling to Scotland, firmly trustingin, and depending on, the good faith the traitor had so solemnlypledged, a brawl had arisen between his (Bruce's) followers and some menin the garb of Borderers, who were discovered to be emissaries of theRed Comyn, and how papers had been found on them, in which all thatcould expose the Bruce to the deadly wrath of Edward was revealed, andhis very death advised as the only effectual means of quelling hisefforts for the freedom of Scotland, and crushing the last hopes of herstill remaining patriots. He told them how, on the natural indignationexcited by this black treachery subsiding, he had met Sir John Comyn atDumfries--how, knowing the fierce irascibility of his natural temper, hehad willingly agreed that the interview Comyn demanded should take placein the church of the Minorite Friars, trusting that the sanctity of theplace would be sufficient to restrain him.
"But who may answer for himself, my friends?" he continued, mournfully;"it needs not to dilate on that dark and stormy interview, suffice itthat the traitor sought still to deceive, still to win me by hisspecious sophistry to reveal my plans, again to be betrayed, and thatwhen I taunted him with his base, cowardly treachery, his blackdishonor, words of wrath and hate, and blind deluded passion arosebetween us, and the spirit of evil at work within me urged my rash swordto strike. Subjects and friends, I plead no temptation as excuse, I makeno defence; I deplore, I contemn the deed. If ye deem me worthy ofdeath, if ye believe the sentence of our holy father in God, hisholiness the Pope, be just, that it is wholly free from the machinationsof England, who, deeming force of arms not sufficient, would hurl thewrath of heaven's viceregent on my devoted head, go, leave me to thefate it brings; your oath of allegiance is dissolved. I have yetfaithful followers, to make one bold stand against the tyrant, and diefor Scotland; but if ye absolve me, if ye will yet give me your heartsand swords, oh, fear me not, my countrymen, we may yet be free!"
Cries, tears, and blessings followed this wisely-spoken appeal, oneuniversal shout reiterated their vows of allegiance; those who had feltterrified at the mandate of their spiritual father, now traced it not tohis impartial judgment, but to the schemes of Edward, and instantly feltits weight and magnitude had faded into air. The unwavering loyalty ofthe Primate of Scotland, the Bishop of Glasgow, and the Abbot of Sconestrengthened them alike in their belief and allegiance, and a band ofyoung citizens were instantly provided with arms at the expense of thetown, and the king entreated by a deputation of the principalmagistrates to accept their services as a guard extraordinary, lest hislife should be yet more endangered from private individuals, by thesentence under which he labored; and gratified by their devotedness,though his bold spirit spurned all Fear of secret assassination, theirrequest was graciously accepted.
The ceremony of knighthood which the king had promised to confer onseveral of his young followers had been deferred until the present time,to admit of their preparing for their inauguration with all the solemnservices of religion which the rites enjoined.
The 15th day of June was the time appointed, and Nigel Bruce and Alan ofBuchan were to pass the night previous, in solemn prayer and vigil, inthe abbey church of Scone. That the rules of chivalry should not betransgressed by his desire to confer some honor on the son of theCountess of Buchan, which would demonstrate the high esteem in which shewas held by her sovereign, Alan had served the king, first as page andthen as esquire, in the interval that had elapsed since his coronation,and now he beheld with ardor the near completion of the honor for whichhe pined. His spirit had been wrung well-nigh to agony, when amidst thelist of the proscribed as traitors he beheld his mother's name; not somuch at the dangers that would encircle her--for from those he mightdefend her--but that his father was still a follower of the unmanlytyrant, who would even war against a woman--his father should stillcalmly assist and serve the man who set a price upon his mother's head.Alas! poor boy, he little knew that father's heart.
It was evening, a still, oppressive evening, for though the sun yetshone brightly as he sunk in the west, a succession of blackthunder-clouds, gradually rising higher and higher athwart the intenseblue of the firmament, seemed to threaten that the wings of the tempestwere already brooding on the dark bosom of night. The very flowersappeared to droop beneath the weight of the atmosphere; the trees movednot, the birds were silent, save when now and then a solitary note washeard, and then hushed, as if the little warbler shrunk back in hisleafy nest, frightened at his own voice. Perchance it was the stillnessof nature which had likewise affected the inmates of a retired chamberin the palace, for though they sate side by side, and their looksbetrayed that the full communion of soul was not denied, few words werespoken. The maiden of Buchan bent over the frame which contained theblue satin scarf she was embroidering with the device of Bruce, in goldand gems, and it was Nigel Bruce who sate beside her, his deep,expressive eyes fixed upon her in such fervid, such eloquent love, thatseldom was it she ventured to raise her glance to his. A slight shadowwas on those sweet and gentle features, perceptible, perchance, to theeye of love alone; and it was this that, after enjoying that silentcommunion of the spirit, so dear to those who love, which bade Nigelfling his arm around that slender form, and ask--
"What is it, sweet one? why art thou sad?"
"Do not ask me, Nigel, for indeed I know not," she answered, simply,looking up a moment in his face, in that sweet touching confidence,which made him draw her closer to his protecting heart; "save that,perchance, the oppression of nature has extended to me, and filled mysoul with unfounded fancies of evil. I ought to be very happy, Nigel,loved thus by _thee_," she hid her eyes upon his bosom; "received as thypromised bride, not alone by thy kind sisters, thy noble brothers,but--simple-hearted maiden as I am--deemed worthy of thee by good KingRobert's self. Nigel, dearest Nigel, why, in an hour of joy like this,should dreams of evil come?"
"To whisper, my beloved, that not on earth may we look for theperfection of joy, the fulness of bliss; that while the mortal shell isround us joy is chained to pain, and granted us but to lift up thespirit to that heaven where pain is banished, bliss made perfect;de
arest, 'tis but for this!" answered the young enthusiast, and the richyet somewhat mournful tones of his voice thrilled to his listener'sheart.
"Thou speakest as if thou, too, hadst experienced forebodings like tothese, my Nigel," said Agnes, thoughtfully. "I deemed them but thefoolishness of my weaker mind."
"Deem them not foolishness, beloved. There are minds, indeed, that knowthem not, but they are of that rude, coarse material which owns nothought, hath no hopes but those of earth and earthly things, insensibleto that profundity of joy which makes us _feel_ its _chain_: 'tis not tothe lightly feeling such forebodings come."
"But thou--hast thou felt them, Nigel, dearest? hast thou listened to,_believed_ their voice?
"I have felt, I feel when I gaze on thee, sweet one, a joy so deep, sofull, that I scarce dare trace it to an earthly cause," he said,slightly evading a direct answer. "I cannot look forward and, as itwere, extend that deep joy to the future; but the fetter binding it topain reminds me I am mortal, that not an earth may I demand find seekand hope to find its fulfilment."
She looked up in his face, with an expression both of bewilderment andfear, and her hand unconsciously closed on his arm, as thus to detainhim to her side.
"Yes, my beloved," he added, with more animation, "it is not because Iput not my trust in earth for unfading joy that we shall find not itssweet flowers below; that our paths on earth may be darkened, becausethe fulness of bliss is alone to be found in heaven. Mine own sweetAgnes, while darkness and strife, and blood and death, are thus at workaround us, is it marvel we should sometimes dream of sorrow? Yet, ohyet, have we not both the same hope, the same God, the same home inheaven; and if our doom be to part on earth, shall we not, oh, shall wenot meet in bliss? I say not such things will be, my best beloved; butbetter look thus upon the dim shadow sometimes resting on the rosy wingsof joy, than ever dismiss it as the vain folly of a weakened mind."
He pressed his lips, which quivered, on the fair, beautiful brow thenresting in irresistible sorrow on his bosom; but he did not attempt bywords to check that maiden's sudden burst of tears. After a while, whenhe found his own emotion sufficiently restrained, soothingly and fondlyhe cheered her to composure, and drew from her the thoughts which haddisturbed her when he first spoke.
"'Twas of my mother, Nigel, of my beloved, my noble mother that Ithought; proscribed, hunted, set a price upon as a traitor. Can herchildren think on such indignity without emotion--and when I rememberthe great power of King Edward, who has done this--without fear for herfate?"
"Sweetest, fear not for her; her noble deed, her dauntless heroism hascircled her with such a guard of gallant knights and warriors, that, inthe hands of Edward, trust me, dearest, she shall never fall; and evenif such should be, still, I say, fear not. Unpitying and cruel as Edwardis, where his ambition is concerned, he is too true a knight, too noblein spirit to take a woman's blood; he is now fearfully enraged, andtherefore has he done this. And as to indignity, 'tis shame to theproscriber not to the proscribed, my love!"
"There is one I fear yet more than Edward," continued the maiden,fearfully; "one that I should love more. Oh, Nigel, my very spiritshrinks from the image of my father. I have sought to love him, todismiss the dark haunting visions which his name has ever brought beforeme. I saw him once, but once, and his stern terrible features and harshvoice so terrified my childish fancies, that I hid myself till he haddeparted, and I have never seen him since, and yet, oh yet, I fear him!"
"What is it that thou fearest, love?"
"I know not," she answered; "but if evil approach my mother, it willcome from him, and so silently, so unsuspectedly, that none may avoidit. Nigel, he cannot love my mother! he is a foe to Bruce, a friend ofthe slaughtered Comyn, and will he not demand a stern account of thedeed that she hath done? will he not seek vengeance? and oh, will henot, may he not in wrath part thee and me, and thus thy bodings befulfilled?"
"Agnes, never! The mandate of man shall never part us; the power of man,unless my limbs be chained, shall never sever thee and me. He that hathnever acted a father's part, can have no power on his child. Thou artmine, my beloved!--mine with thy mother's blessing; and mine thou shaltbe--no earthly power shall part us. Death, death alone can break thelinks that bind us, and must be of God, though man may seem the cause.Be comforted, sweet love. Hark! they are chiming vespers; I must be gonefor the solemn vigil of to-night, and to-morrow thou shalt arm thine owntrue knight, mine Agnes, and deck me with that blue scarf, more preciouseven than the jewelled sword my sovereign brother gives. Farewell, for abrief, brief while; I go to watch and pray. Oh, let thy orisons attendme, and surely then my vigil shall be blest."
"Pray thou for me, my Nigel," whispered the trembling girl, as heclasped her in his arms, "that true as I may be, strength befitting thypromised bride may be mine own. Nigel, my beloved, indeed I need suchprayer."
He whispered hope and comfort, and departed by the stone stairs whichled from the gothic casement where they had been sitting, into thegarden; he lingered to gather some delicate blue-bells which had justblown, and turned back to place them in the lap of Agnes. She eagerlyraised them and pressed them to her lips, but either their fragileblossoms could not bear even her soft touch, or the heavy air hadinwardly withered their bloom, for the blossoms fell from their stalks,and scattered their beautiful petals at her feet.
The Days of Bruce Vol 1 Page 8
