CHAPTER XI.
Rumors of the fatal issue of the engagement at Methven speedily reachedScone, laden, of course, with, yet more disastrous tidings than hadfoundation in reality. King Robert, it was said, and all his nobles andknights--nay, his whole army--were cut off to a man; the king, if nottaken prisoner, was left dead on the field, and all Scotland lay againcrushed and enslaved at the feet of Edward. For four-and-twenty hoursdid the fair inhabitants of the palace labor under this belief,well-nigh stunned beneath the accumulation of misfortune. It was curiousto remark the different forms in which affliction appeared in differentcharacters, The queen, in loud sobs and repeated wailing, at one timedeplored her own misery; at others, accused her husband of rashness andmadness. Why had he not taken her advice and remained quiet? Why couldhe not have been contented with the favor of Edward and a proud, fairheritage? What good did he hope to get for himself by assuming the crownof so rude and barren a land as Scotland? Had she not told him he wasbut a summer king, that the winter would soon blight his prospects andnip his budding hopes; and had she not proved herself wiser even than hewas himself? and then she would suddenly break off in these reproachesto declare that, if he were a prisoner, she would go to him; she wouldremain with him to the last; she would prove how much she idolizedhim--her own, her brave, her noble Robert. And vain was every effort onthe part of her sisters-in-law and the Countess of Buchan, and other ofher friends, to mitigate these successive bursts of sorrow. The LadySeaton, of a stronger mind, yet struggled with despondency, yet stroveto hope, to believe all was not as overwhelming as had been described;although, if rumor were indeed true, she had lost a husband and a son,the gallant young Earl of Mar, whom she had trained to all noble deedsand honorable thoughts, for he had been fatherless from infancy. LadyMary could forget her own deep anxieties, her own fearful forebodings,silently and unobservedly to watch, to follow, to tend the Countess ofBuchan, whose marble cheek and lip, and somewhat sterner expression ofcountenance than usual, alone betrayed the anxiety passing within, forwords it found not. She could share with her the task of soothing, ofcheering Agnes, whose young spirit lay crushed beneath this heavy blow.She did not complain, she did not murmur, but evidently struggled toemulate her mother's calmness, for she would bend over her frame andendeavor to continue her embroidery. But those who watched her, markedher frequent shudder, the convulsive sob, the tiny hands pressed closelytogether, and then upon her eyes, as if to still their smarting throbs;and Isoline, who sat in silence on a cushion at her feet, could catchsuch low whispered words as these--
"Nigel, Nigel, could I but know thy fate! Dead, dead!--could I not diewith thee? Imprisoned, have I not a right to follow thee; to tend, tosoothe thee? Any thing, oh, any thing, but this horrible suspense! Alan,my brother, thou too, so young, to die."
The morning of the second day brought other and less distressing rumors;all had not fallen, all were not taken. There were tales of courage, ofdaring gallantry, of mighty struggles almost past belief; but what werethey, even in that era of chivalry, to the heart sinking underapprehensions, the hopes just springing up amidst the wild chaos ofthoughts to smile a moment, to be crushed 'neath suspense, uncertainty,the next? Still the eager tones of conjecture, the faintest-spokenwhispers of renewed hope, were better than the dead stillness, the heavyhush of despair.
And the queen's apartments, in which at sunset all her friends hadassembled, presented less decided sounds of mourning and of wail, thanthe previous day. Margaret was indeed still one minute plunged in tearsand sobs, and the next hoping more, believing more than any one aroundher. Agnes had tacitly accompanied her mother and Lady Mary to the royalboudoir, but she had turned in very sickness of heart from all hercompanions, and remained standing in a deep recess formed by the highand narrow casement, alone, save Isoline, who still clung to her side,pale, motionless as the marble statue near her, whose unconscious reposeshe envied.
"Speak, Isabella, why will you not speak to me?" said the queen,fretfully. "My husband bade me look to thee for strength, for supportunder care and affliction like to this, yet thou keepest aloof from me;thou hast words of comfort, of cheering for all save me."
"Not so, royal lady, not so," she answered, as with a faint, scarcelyperceptible smile, she advanced to the side of her royal mistress, andtook her hand in hers. "I have spoken, I have urged, entreated, conjuredthee to droop not; for thy husband's sake, to hope on, despite theterrible rumors abroad. I have besought thee to seek firmness for hissake; but thou didst but tell me, Isabella, Isabella, thou canst notfeel as I do, he is naught to thee but thy king; to me, what is he not?king, hero, husband--all, my only all; and I have desisted, lady, for Ideemed my words offended, my counsel unadvised, and looked on but ascold and foolish."
"Nay, did I say all this to thee? Isabella, forgive me, for indeed,indeed, I knew it not," replied Margaret, her previous fretfulnesssubsiding into a softened and less painful burst of weeping. "He is intruth, my all, my heart's dearest, best, and without him, oh! what am I?even a cipher, a reed, useless to myself, to my child, as to all others.I am not like thee, Isabella--would, would I were; I should be moreworthy of my Robert's love, and consequently dearer to his heart. I canbe but a burden to him now."
"Hush, hush! would he not chide thee for such words, my Margaret?"returned the countess, soothingly, and in a much lower voice, speakingas she would to a younger sister. "Had he not deemed thee worthy, wouldhe have made thee his? oh, no, believe it not; he is too true, toohonorable for such thought."
"He loved me, because he saw I loved," whispered the queen, perceivingthat her companions had left her well-nigh alone with the countess, andfollowing, as was her custom, every impulse of her fond butill-regulated heart. "I had not even strength to conceal that--thattruth which any other would have died rather than reveal. He saw it andhis noble spirit was touched; and he has been all, all, aye, more than Icould have dreamed, to me--so loving and so true."
"Then why fancy thyself a burden, not a joy to him, sweet friend?"demanded Isabella of Buchan, the rich accents of her voice even softerand sweeter than usual, for there was something in the clingingconfidence of the queen it was impossible not to love.
"I did not, I could not, for he cherished me so fondly till this suddenrising--this time, when his desperate enterprise demands energy andfirmness, even from the humblest female, how much more from the Bruce'swife! and his manner is not changed towards me, nor his love. I know heloves me, cherishes me, as he ever did; but he must pity my weakness, mywant of nerve; when he compares me to himself, he must look on me withalmost contempt. For now it is, now that clearer than ever his characterstands forth in such glorious majesty, such moderation, such a daringyet self-governed spirit, that I feel how utterly unworthy I am of him,how little capable to give that spirit, that mind the reflection it mustdemand; and when my weak fears prevail, my weak fancies speak only ofdanger and defeat, how can he bear with me? Must I not become, if I amnot now, a burden?"
"No, dearest Margaret," replied the countess, instantly. "The mind thatcan so well _appreciate_ the virtues of her husband will never permitherself, through weakness and want of nerve, to become a burden to him.Thou hast but to struggle with these imaginary terrors, to endeavor toencourage, instead of to dispirit, and he will love and cherish theeeven more than hadst thou never been unnerved."
"Let him but be restored to me, and I will do all this. I will makemyself more worthy of his love; but, oh, Isabella, while I speak this,perhaps he is lost to me forever; I may never see his face, never hearthat tone of love again!" and a fresh flood of weeping concluded herwords.
"Nay, but thou wilt--I know thou wilt," answered the countess,cheeringly. "Trust me, sweet friend, though defeat may attend him awhile, though he may pass through trial and suffering ere the goal begained, Robert Bruce will eventually deliver his country--will be herking, her savior--will raise her in the scale of nations, to a leveleven with the highest, noblest, most deserving. He is not lost to thee;trial will but prove his worth un
to his countrymen even more than wouldsuccess."
"And how knowest thou these things, my Isabella?" demanded Margaret,looking up in her face, with a half-playful, half-sorrowful smile. "Hastthou the gift of prophecy?"
"Prophecy!" repeated the countess, sadly. "Alas! 'tis but the characterof Robert which hath inspired my brighter vision. Had I the gift ofprophecy, my fond heart would not start and quiver thus, when it vainlystrives to know the fate of my only son. I, too, have anxiety, lady,though it find not words."
"Thou hast, thou hast, indeed; and yet I, weak, selfish as I am, thinkonly of myself. Stay by me, Isabella; oh, do not leave me, I am strongerby thy side."
It was growing darker and darker, and the hopes that, ere night fell,new and more trustworthy intelligence of the movements of the fugitiveswould be received were becoming fainter and fainter on every heart.Voices were hushed to silence, or spoke only in whispers. Half an hourpassed thus, when the listless suffering on the lovely face of Agnes wasobserved by Isoline to change to an expression of intense attention.
"Hearest thou no step?" she said, in a low, piercing whisper, and layinga cold and trembling hand on Isoline's arm. "It is, it is his--it isNigel's; he has not fallen--he is spared!" and she started up, a brightflush on her cheek, her hands pressed convulsively on her heart.
"Nay, Agnes, there is no sound, 'tis but a fancy," but even while shespoke, a rapid step was heard along the corridor, and a shadow darkenedthe doorway--but was that Nigel? There was no plume, no proud crest onhis helmet; its vizor was still closely barred, and a surcoat of coarseblack stuff was thrown over his armor, without any decoration to displayor betray the rank of the wearer. A faint cry of alarm broke from thequeen and many of her friends, but with one bound Agnes sprang to theintruder, whose arms were open to receive her, and wildly uttering"Nigel!" fainted on his bosom.
"And didst thou know me even thus, beloved?" he murmured, rapidlyunclasping his helmet and dashing it from him, to imprint repeatedkisses on her cheek. "Wake, Agnes, best beloved, my own sweet love; whathadst thou heard that thou art thus? Oh, wake, smile, speak to me: 'tisthine own Nigel calls."
And vainly, till that face smiled again on him in consciousness, wouldthe anxious inmates of that room have sought and received intelligence,had he not been followed by Lord Douglas, Fitz-Alan, and others, theirarmor and rank concealed as was Nigel's, who gave the requiredinformation as eagerly as it was desired.
"Robert--my king, my husband--where is he--why is he not here?"reiterated Margaret, vainly seeking to distinguish his figure amid theothers, obscured as they were by the rapidly-increasing darkness. "Whyis he not with ye--why is he not here?"
"And he is here, Meg; here to chide thy love as less penetrating, lessable to read disguise or concealment than our gentle Agnes there. Nay,weep not, dearest; my hopes are as strong, my purpose as unchanged, mytrust in heaven as fervent as it was when I went forth to battle. Trialand suffering must be mine a while, I have called it on my own head; butstill, oh, still thy Robert shall deliver Scotland--shall cast aside herchains."
The deep, manly voice of the king acted like magic on the depressedspirits of those around him; and though there was grief, bitter, bittergrief to tell, though many a heart's last lingering hopes were crushed'neath that fell certainty, which they thought to have pictured duringthe hours of suspense, and deemed themselves strengthened to endure, yetstill 'twas a grief that found vent in tears--grief that admitted ofsoothing, of sympathy--grief time might heal, not the harrowing agony ofgrief half told--hopes rising to be crushed.
Still did the Countess of Buchan cling to the massive arm of the chairwhich Margaret had left, utterly powerless, wholly incapacitated fromasking the question on which her very life seemed to depend. Not eventhe insensibility of her Agnes had had the power to rouse her from thestupor of anxiety which had spread over her, sharpening every facultyand feeling indeed, but rooting her to the spot. Her boy, her Alan, hewas not amongst those warriors; she heard not the beloved accents of hisvoice; she saw not his boyish form--darkness could not deceive her.Disguise would not prevent him, were he amongst his companions, fromseeking her embrace. One word would end that anguish, would speak theworst, end it--had he fallen!
The king looked round the group anxiously and inquiringly.
"The Countess of Buchan?" he said; "where is our noble friend? shesurely hath a voice to welcome her king, even though he return to herdefeated."
"Sire, I am here," she said, but with difficulty; and Robert, as if heunderstood it, could read all she was enduring, hastened towards her,and took both her cold hands in his.
"I give thee joy," he said, in accents that reassured her on theinstant. "Nobly, gallantly, hath thy patriot boy proved himself thy son;well and faithfully hath he won his spurs, and raised the honor of hismother's olden line. He bade me greet thee with all loving duty, and sayhe did but regret his wounds that they prevented his attending me, andthrowing himself at his mother's feet."
"He is wounded, then, my liege?" Robert felt her hands tremble in hishold.
"It were cruel to deceive thee, lady--desperately but not dangerouslywounded. On the honor of a true knight, there is naught to alarm, thoughsomething, perchance, to regret; for he pines and grieves that it may beyet a while ere he recover sufficient strength to don his armor. It isnot loss of blood, but far more exhaustion, from the superhumanexertions that he made. Edward and Alexander are with him; the one afaithful guard, in himself a host, the other no unskilful leech: trustme, noble lady, there is naught to fear."
He spoke, evidently to give her time to recover the sudden revulsion offeeling which his penetrating eye discovered had nearly overpowered her,and he succeeded; ere he ceased, that quivering of frame and lip hadpassed, and Isabella of Buchan again stood calm and firm, enabled toinquire all particulars of her child, and then join in the council heldas to the best plan to be adopted with regard to the safety of the queenand her companions.
In Scone, it was evident, they could not remain, for already the townsand villages around, which had all declared for the Bruce, were hurryingin the greatest terror to humble themselves before Pembroke, and entreathis interference in their favor with his sovereign. There was littlehope, even if Scone remained faithful to his interests, that she wouldbe enabled to defend herself from the attacks of the English; and itwould be equally certain, that if the wife of Bruce, and the wives anddaughters of so many of his loyal followers remained within her walls,to obtain possession of their persons would become Pembroke's firstobject. It remained to decide whether they would accompany theirsovereign to his mountain fastnesses and expose themselves to all theprivations and hardships which would inevitably attend a wanderinglife, or that they should depart under a safe escort to Norway, whosemonarch was friendly to the interests of Scotland. This latter schemethe king very strongly advised, representing in vivid colors the miserythey might have to endure if they adhered to him; the continual dangerof their falling into the hands of Edward, and even could they eludethis, how was it possible their delicate frames, accustomed as they wereto luxury and repose, could sustain the rude fare, the roofless homes,the continued wandering amid the crags and floods and deserts of themountains. He spoke eloquently and feelingly, and there was a briefsilence when he concluded. Margaret had thrown her arms round herhusband, and buried her face on his bosom; her child clung to herfather's knee, and laid her soft cheek caressingly by his. Isabella ofBuchan, standing a little aloof, remained silent indeed, but no one whogazed on her could doubt her determination or believe she wavered. Agneswas standing in the same recess she had formerly occupied, but howdifferent was the expression of her features. The arm of Nigel wastwined round her, his head bent down to hers in deep and earnestcommune; he was pleading against his own will and feelings it seemed,and though he strove to answer every argument, to persuade her it wasfar better she should seek safety in a foreign land, her determinationmore firmly expressed than could have been supposed from her yieldingdisposition, to abide with him, in w
eal or in woe, to share hiswanderings, his home, be it roofless on the mountain, or within palacewalls; that she was a Highland girl, accustomed to mountain paths andwoody glens, nerved to hardship and toil--this determination, we say,contrary as it was to his eloquent pleadings, certainly afforded Nigelno pain, and might his beaming features be taken as reply, it wasfraught with unmingled pleasure. In a much shorter time than we havetaken to describe this, however, the queen had raised her head, andlooking up in her husband's face with an expression of devotedness,which gave her countenance a charm it had never had before, ferventlyexclaimed--
"Robert, come woe or weal, I will abide with thee; her husband's side isthe best protection for a wife; and if wandering and suffering be hisportion, who will soothe and cheer as the wife of his love? My spirit isbut cowardly, my will but weak; but by thee I may gain the strengthwhich in foreign lands could never be my own. Imaginary terrors, fanciedhorrors would be worse, oh, how much worse than reality! and when we metagain I should be still less worthy of thy love. No, Robert, no! urge menot, plead to me no more. My friends may do as they will, but Margaretabides with thee."
"And who is there will pause, will hesitate, when their queen hathspoken thus?" continued the Countess of Buchan in a tone that toMargaret's ear whispered approval and encouragement. "Surely, there isnone here whose love for their country is so weak, their loyalty totheir sovereign of such little worth, that at the first defeat, thefirst disappointment, they would fly over seas for safety, andcontentedly leave the graves of their fathers, the hearths of theirancestors, the homes of their childhood to be desecrated by the chainsof a foreign tyrant, by the footsteps of his hirelings? Oh, do not letus waver! Let us prove that though the arm of woman is weaker than thatof man, her spirit is as firm, her heart as true; and that privation,and suffering, and hardship encountered amid the mountains of our land,the natural fastnesses of Scotland, in company with our rightful king,our husbands, our children--all, all, aye, death itself, were preferableto exile and separation. 'Tis woman's part to gild, to bless, and make ahome, and still, still we may do this, though our ancestral homes be inthe hands of Edward. Scotland has still her sheltering breast for allher children; and shall we desert her now?"
"No, no, no!" echoed from every side, enthusiasm kindling with herwords. "Better privation and danger in Scotland, than safety and comfortelsewhere."
Nor was this the mere decision of the moment, founded on its enthusiasm.The next morning found them equally firm, equally determined; even theweak and timid Margaret rose in that hour of trial superior to herself,and preparations were rapidly made for their departure. Nor were theprelates of Scotland, who had remained at Scone during the king'sengagement, backward in encouraging and blessing their decision. Hisduties prevented the Abbot of Scone accompanying them; but it was withdeep regret he remained behind, not from any fear of the English, for awarrior spirit lurked beneath those episcopal robes, but from his deepreverence for the enterprise, and love for the person of King Robert. Heacceded to the necessity of remaining in his abbey with the bettergrace, as he fondly hoped to preserve the citizens in the good faith andloyalty they had so nobly demonstrated. The Archbishop of St. Andrew'sand the Bishop of Glasgow determined on following their sovereign to thedeath; and the spirit of Robert, wounded as it had been, felt healed andsoothed, and inspired afresh, as the consciousness of his power oversome true and faithful hearts, of every grade and rank of either sex,became yet more strongly proved in this hour of depression. He ceased tospeak of seeking refuge for his fair companions in another land, theirdetermination to abide with him, and their husbands and sons, was tooheartfelt, too unwavering, to allow of a hope to change it; and he wellknew that their presence, instead of increasing the cares and anxietiesof his followers, would rather lessen, them, by shedding a spirit ofchivalry even over the weary wanderings he knew must be their portionfor a while, by gilding with the light of happier days the hours ofdarkness that might surround them.
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