CHAPTER XII.
The queen and her companions were conveyed in detachments from thepalace and town of Scone, the Bruce believing, with justice, they wouldthus attract less notice, and be better able to reach the mountains insafety. The Countess of Buchan, her friend Lady Mary, Agnes, andIsoline, attended by Sir Nigel, were the first to depart, for though shespoke it not, deep anxiety was on the mother's heart for the fate of herboy. They mostly left Scone at different hours of the night; and thesecond day from the king's arrival, the palace was untenanted, all signsof the gallant court, which for a brief space had shed such lustre, suchrays of hope on the old town, were gone, and sorrowfully anddispiritedly the burghers and citizens went about their severaloccupations, for their hearts yet throbbed in loyalty and patriotism,though hope they deemed was wholly at an end. Still they burned withindignation at every intelligence of new desertions to Edward, andthough the power of Pembroke compelled them to bend unwillingly to theyoke, it was as a bow too tightly strung, which would snap rather thanuse its strength in the cause of Edward.
A few weeks' good nursing from his mother and sister, attended as it wasby the kindness and warm friendship of the sovereign he adored, and theconstant care of Nigel, speedily restored the heir of Buchan, if notentirely to his usual strength, at least with sufficient to enable himto accompany the royal wanderers wherever they pitched their tent, andby degrees join in the adventurous excursions of his young companions tosupply them with provender, for on success in hunting entirely dependedtheir subsistence.
It was in itself a strange romance, the life they led. Frequently theblue sky was their only covering, the purple heath their only bed; norwould the king fare better than his followers. Eagerly, indeed, theyoung men ever exerted themselves to form tents or booths of brushwood,branches of trees, curiously and tastefully interwoven with the wildflowers that so luxuriantly adorned the rocks, for the accommodation ofthe faithful companions who preferred this precarious existence withthem, to comfort, safety, and luxury in a foreign land. Nature, indeed,lavishly supplied them with beautiful materials, and where the will wasgood, exertion proved but a new enjoyment. Couches and cushions of thesoftest moss formed alike seats and places of repose; by degrees almosta village of these primitive dwellings would start into being, in thecentre of some wild rocks, which formed natural barriers around them,watered, perhaps, by some pleasant brook rippling and gushing by inwild, yet soothing music, gemmed by its varied flowers.
Here would be the rendezvous for some few weeks; here would Margaret andher companions rest a while from their fatiguing wanderings; and couldthey have thought but of the present, they would have been completelyhappy. Here would their faithful knights return laden with the spoils ofthe chase, or with some gay tale of danger dared, encountered, andconquered; here would the song send its full tone amid the respondingechoes. The harp and muse of Nigel gave a refinement and delicacy tothese meetings, marking them, indeed, the days of chivalry and poetry.Even Edward Bruce, the stern, harsh, dark, passioned warrior, even hefelt the magic of the hour, and now that the courage of Nigel had beenproved, gave willing ear, and would be among the first to bid him wakehis harp, and soothe the troubled visions of the hour; and Robert, whosaw so much of his own soul reflected in his young brother, mingled asit was with yet more impassioned fervor, more beautiful, more endearingqualities, for Nigel had needed not trial to purify his soul, and markhim out a patriot. Robert, in very truth, loved him, and often wouldshare with him his midnight couch, his nightly watchings, that he mightconfide to that young heart the despondency, the hopelessness, that tonone other might be spoken, none other might suspect--the secret fearthat his crime would be visited on his unhappy country, and he forbiddento secure her freedom even by the sacrifice of his life.
"If it be so, it must be so; then be thou her savior, her deliverer, myNigel," he would often urge; "droop not because I may have departed;struggle on, do as thy soul prompts, and success will, nay, must attendthee; for thou art pure and spotless, and well deserving of all theglory, the blessedness, that will attend the sovereign of our countryfreed from chains; thou art, in truth, deserving of all this, but I--"
"Peace, peace, my brother!" would be Nigel's answer; "thou, only thoushalt deliver our country, shall be her free, her patriot king! Have wenot often marked the glorious sun struggling with the black masses ofclouds which surround and obscure his rising, struggling, and in vain,to penetrate their murky folds, and deluge the world with light, shininga brief moment, and then immersed in darkness, until, as he nears thewestern horizon, the heaviest clouds flee before him, the spotless azurespreadeth its beautiful expanse, the brilliant rays dart on every side,warming and cheering the whole earth with reviving beams, and finallysinking to his rest in a flood of splendor, more dazzling, more imposingthan ever attends his departure when his dawn hath been one of joy. Suchis thy career, my brother; such will be thy glorious fate. Oh, droop noteven to me--to thyself! Hope on, strive on, and thou shalt succeed!"
"Would I had thy hopeful spirit, my Nigel, an it pictured and believedthings as these!" mournfully would the Bruce reply, and clasp the youngwarrior to his heart; but it was only Nigel's ear that heard thesewhispers of despondency, only Nigel's eye which could penetrate theinmost folds of that royal heart. Not even to his wife--his Margaret,whose faithfulness in these hours of adversity had drawn her yet closerto her husband--did he breathe aught save encouragement and hope; and tohis followers he was the same as he had been from the first, resolute,unwavering; triumphing over every obstacle; cheering the faint-hearted;encouraging the desponding; smiling with his young followers, ever onthe alert to provide amusement for them, to approve, guide, instruct;gallantly and kindly to smooth the path for his female companions,joining in every accommodation for them, even giving his manual laborwith the lowest of his followers, if his aid would lessen fatigue, ormore quickly enhance comfort. And often and often in the littleencampment we have described, when night fell, and warrior and damewould assemble, in various picturesque groups, on the grassy mound, theking, seated in the midst of them, would read aloud, and divert even themost wearied frame and careworn mind by the stirring scenes andchivalric feelings his MSS. recorded. The talent of decipheringmanuscripts, indeed of reading any thing, was one seldom attained oreven sought for in the age of which we treat; the sword and spear werealike the recreation and the business of the nobles. Reading and writingwere in general confined to monks, and the other clergy; but Robert,even as his brother Nigel, possessed both these accomplishments,although to the former their value never seemed so fully known as in hiswanderings. His readings were diversified by rude narratives or tales,which he demanded in return from his companions, and many a hearty laughwould resound from the woodland glades, at the characteristic humor withwhich these demands were complied with: the dance, too, would diversifythese meetings. A night of repose might perhaps succeed, to be disturbedat its close by a cause for alarm, and those pleasant resting-placesmust be abandoned, the happy party be divided, and scattered far andwide, to encounter fatigue, danger, perchance even death, ere they metagain.
Yet still they drooped not, murmured not. No voice was ever heard towish the king's advice had been taken, and they had sought refuge inNorway. Not even Margaret breathed one sigh, dropped one tear, in herhusband's presence, although many were the times that she would havesunk from exhaustion, had not Isabella of Buchan been near as herguardian angel to revive, encourage, infuse a portion of her own spiritin the weaker heart, which so confidingly clung to her. The youngestand most timid maiden, the oldest and most ailing man, still maintainedthe same patriotic spirit and resolute devotion which had upheld them atfirst. "The Bruce and Scotland" were the words imprinted on their souls,endowed with a power to awake the sinking heart, and rouse the faintingframe.
To Agnes and Nigel, it was shrewdly suspected, these wanderings in thecentre of magnificent nature, their hearts open to each other, revellingin the scenes around them, were seasons of unalloyed enjoyment,happine
ss more perfect than the state and restraint of a court.Precarious, indeed, it was, but even in moments of danger they were notparted; for Nigel was ever the escort of the Countess of Buchan, anddanger by his side lost half its terror to Agnes. He left her side butto return to it covered with laurels, unharmed, uninjured, even in themidst of foes; and so frequently did this occur, that the fond,confiding spirit of the young Agnes folded itself around the belief thathe bore a charmed life; that evil and death could not injure one sofaultless and beloved. Their love grew stronger with each passing week;for nature, beautiful nature, is surely the field of that interchange ofthought, for that silent commune of soul so dear to those that love. Thesimplest flower, the gushing brooks, the frowning hills, the varied huesattending the rising and the setting of the sun, all were turned topoetry when the lips of Nigel spoke to the ears of love. The mind ofAgnes expanded before these rich communings. She was so young, soguileless, her character moulded itself on his. She learned yet more tocomprehend, to appreciate the nobility of his soul, to cling yet closerto him, as the consciousness of the rich treasure she possessed in hislove became more and more unfolded to her view. The natural fearfulnessof her disposition gave way, and the firmness, the enthusiasm ofpurpose, took possession of her heart, secretly and silently, indeed;for to all, save to herself, she was the same gentle, timid, clinginggirl that she had ever been.
So passed the summer months; but as winter approached, and the prospectsof the king remained as apparently hopeless and gloomy as they were onhis first taking refuge in the mountains, it was soon pretty evidentthat some other plan must be resorted to; for strong as the resolutionmight be, the delicate frames of his female companions, alreadysuffering from the privations to which they had been exposed, could notsustain the intense cold and heavy snows peculiar to the mountainregion. Gallantly as the king had borne himself in every encounter withthe English and Anglo-Scots, sustaining with unexampled heroism repeateddefeats and blighted hopes, driven from one mountainous district by thefierce opposition of its inhabitants, from another by a cessation ofsupplies, till famine absolutely threatened, closely followed by itsgrim attendant, disease, all his efforts to collect and inspire hiscountrymen with his own spirit, his own hope, were utterly and entirelyfruitless, for his enemies appeared to increase around him, the autumnfound him as far, if not further, from the successful termination of hisdesires than he had been at first.
All Scotland lay at the feet of his foe. John of Lorn, maternallyrelated to the slain Red Comyn, had collected his forces to the numberof a thousand, and effectually blockaded his progress through thedistrict of Breadalbane, to which he had retreated from a superior bodyof English, driving him to a narrow pass in the mountains, where theBruce's cavalry had no power to be of service; and had it not been forthe king's extraordinary exertions in guarding the rear, and therechecking the desperate fury of the assailants, and interrupting theirheadlong pursuit of the fugitives, by a strength, activity, andprudence, that in these days would seem incredible, the patriots musthave been cut off to a man. Here it was that the family of Lorn obtainedpossession of that brooch of Bruce, which even to this day is preservedas a relic, and lauded as a triumph, proving how nearly their redoubtedenemy had fallen into their hands. Similar struggles had marked hisprogress through the mountains ever since the defeat of Methven; butvain was every effort of his foes to obtain possession of his person,destroy his energy, and thus frustrate his purpose. Perth, Inverness,Argyle, and Aberdeen had alternately been the scene of his wanderings.The middle of autumn found him with about a hundred followers, amongstwhom were the Countess of Buchan and her son, amid the mountains whichdivide Kincardine from the southwest boundary of Aberdeen. The remainderof his officers and men, divided into small bands, each with some oftheir female companions under their especial charge, were scattered overthe different districts, as better adapted to concealment and rest.
It was that part of the year when day gives place to night so suddenly,that the sober calm of twilight even appears denied to us. The streamsrushed by, turbid and swollen from the heavy autumnal rains. A rude windhad robbed most of the trees of their foliage; the sere and witheredleaves, indeed, yet remained on the boughs, beautiful even in, theirdecay, but the slightest breath would carry them away from theirresting-places, and the mountain passes were incumbered, and oftenslippery from the fallen leaves. The mountains looked frowning and bare,the pine and fir bent and rocked in their craggy cradles, and the windmoaned through their dark branches sadly and painfully. The sun had,indeed, shone fitfully through the day, but still the scene was one ofmelancholy desolation, and the heart of the Countess of Buchan, bold andfirm in general, could not successfully resist the influence of Nature'ssadness. She sat comparatively alone; a covering had, indeed, beenthrown over some thick poles, which interwove with brushwood, and with aseat and couch of heather, which was still in flower, formed a rudetent, and was destined for her repose; but until night's dark mantle wasfully unfurled, she had preferred the natural seat of a jutting crag,sheltered from the wind by an overhanging rock and some spreading firs.Her companions were scattered in different directions in search of food,as was their wont. Some ten or fifteen men had been left with her, andthey were dispersed about the mountain collecting firewood, and a supplyof heath and moss for the night encampment; within hail, indeed, butscarcely within sight, for the space where the countess sate commandedlittle more than protruding crags and stunted trees, and mountainslifting their dark, bare brows to the starless sky.
It was not fear which had usurped dominion in the Lady Isabella's heart,it was that heavy, sluggish, indefinable weight which sometimes clogsthe spirit we know not wherefore, until some event following quick uponit forces us, even against our will, to believe it the overhangingshadow of the future which had darkened the present. She was sad, verysad, yet she could not, as was ever her custom, bring that sadness tojudgment, and impartially examining and determining its cause, remove itif possible, or banish it resolutely from her thoughts.
An impulse indefinable, yet impossible to be resisted, had caused her tointrust her Agnes to the care of Lady Mary and Nigel, and compelled herto follow her son, who had been the chosen companion of the king.Rigidly, sternly, she had questioned her own heart as to the motives ofthis decision. It was nothing new her accompanying her son, for she hadinvariably done so; but it was something unusual her being separatedfrom the queen, and though her heart told her that her motives were soupright, so pure, they could have borne the sternest scrutiny, there wasnaught which the most rigid mentor could condemn, yet a feeling thatevil would come of this was amongst the many others which weighed on herheart. She could not tell wherefore, yet she wished it had beenotherwise, wished the honor of being selected as the king's companionhad fallen on other than her son, for separate herself from him shecould not. One cause of this despondency might have been traced to thenatural sinking of the spirit when it finds itself alone, with time forits own fancies, after a long period of exertion, and that mentalexcitement which, unseen to all outward observers, preys upon itself.Memory had awakened dreams and visions she had long looked upon as dead;it did but picture brightly, beautifully, joyously what might have been,and disturbed the tranquil sadness which was usual to her now; disturbit as with phantasmagoria dancing on the brain, yet it was a strugglehard and fierce to banish them again. As one sweet fancy sunk anotherrose, even as gleams of moonlight on the waves which rise and fall withevery breeze. Fancy and reason strove for dominion, but the latterconquered. What could be now the past, save as a vision of the night;the present, a stern reality with all its duties--duties not alone toothers, but to herself. These were the things on which her thoughts mustdwell; these must banish all which might have been and they did; andIsabella of Buchan came through that fiery ordeal unscathed, uninjuredin her self-esteem, conscious that not in one thought did she wrong herhusband, in not one dream did she wrong the gentle heart of the queenwhich so clung to her; in not the wildest flight of fancy did she lookon Robert as a
ught save as the deliverer of his country, the king of alltrue Scottish men.
She rose up from that weakness of suffering, strengthened in her resolveto use every energy in the queen's service in supporting, encouraging,endeavoring so to work on her appreciation of her husband's character,as to render her yet more worthy of his love. She had ever sought toremain beside the queen, ever contrived they should be of the sameparty; that her mind was ever on the stretch, on the excitement, couldnot be denied, but she knew not how great its extent till the call forexertion was comparatively over, and she found herself, she scarcelyunderstood how, the only female companion of her sovereign, thesituation she had most dreaded, most determined to avoid. While engagedin the performance of her arduous task, the schooling her own heart anddevoting herself to Robert's wife, virtue seemed to have had its ownreward, for a new spirit had entwined her whole being--excitement,internal as it was, had given a glow to thought and action; but in herpresent solitude the reaction of spirit fell upon her as a dull,sluggish weight of lead. She had suffered, too, from both privation andfatigue, and she was aware her strength was failing, and this perhapswas another cause of her depression; but be that as it may, darknessclosed round her unobserved, and when startled by some sudden sound, sheraised her head from her hands, she could scarcely discern one objectfrom another in the density of gloom. "Surely night has come suddenlyupon us," she said, half aloud; "it is strange they have not yetreturned," and rising, she was about seeking the tent prepared for her,when a rude grasp was laid on her arm, and a harsh, unknown voiceuttered, in suppressed accents--
"Not so fast, fair mistress, not so fast! My way does not lie in thatdirection, and, with your leave, my way is yours."
"How, man! fellow, detain me at your peril!" answered the countess,sternly, permitting no trace of terror to falter in her voice, althougha drawn sword gleamed by her side, and a gigantic form fully armed hadgrasped her arm. "Unhand me, or I will summon those that will forcethee. I am not alone, and bethink thee, insult to me will pass not withimpunity."
The man laughed scornfully. "Boldly answered, fair one," he said; "of atruth thou art a brave one. I grieve such an office should descend uponme as the detention of so stout a heart; yet even so. In King Edward'sname, you are my prisoner."
"Your prisoner, and wherefore?" demanded the countess believing thatcalmness would be a better protection than any symptoms of fear. "Youare mistaken, good friend, I knew not Edward warred with women."
"Prove my mistake, fair mistress, and I will crave your pardon," repliedthe man, "We have certain intelligence that a party of Scottish rebels,their quondam king perhaps among them, are hidden in these mountains.Give us trusty news of their movements, show us their track, and Edwardwill hold you in high favor, and grant liberty and rich presents inexcuse of his servant's too great vigilance. Hearest thou, what is thetrack of these rebels--what their movements?"
"Thou art a sorry fool, Murdock," retorted another voice, ere thecountess could reply, and hastily glancing around, she beheld herselfsurrounded by armed men; "a sorry fool, an thou wastest the preciousdarkness thus. Is not one rank rebel sufficient, think you, to satisfyour lord? he will get intelligence enough out of her, be sure. Isabellaof Buchan is not fool enough to hold parley with such as we, rely on't."
A suppressed exclamation of exultation answered the utterance of thatname, and without further parley the arms of the countess were stronglypinioned, and with the quickness of thought the man who had first spokenraised her in his arms, and bore her through the thickest brushwood andwildest crags in quite the contrary direction to the encampment; theirmovements accelerated by the fact that, ere her arms were confined, thecountess, with admirable presence of mind, had raised to her lips asilver whistle attached to her girdle, and blown a shrill, distinctblast. A moment sufficed to rudely tear it from her hand, and hurry heroff as we have said; and when that call was answered, which it was assoon as the men scattered on the mountain sufficiently recognized thesound, they flung down their tools and sprung to the side whence itcame, but there was no sign, no trace of her they sought; they scouredwith lighted torches every mossy path or craggy slope, but in vain;places of concealment were too numerous, the darkness too intense, savejust the space illumined by the torch, to permit success. The tramplingof horses announced the return of the king and his companions, ere theirsearch was concluded; his bugle summoned the stragglers, and speedilythe loss of the countess was ascertained, their fruitless searchnarrated, and anxiety and alarm spread over the minds of all. The agonyof the youthful Alan surpassed description, even the efforts of hissovereign failed to calm him. Nor was the Bruce himself much lessagitated.
"She did wrong, she did wrong," he said, "to leave herself so longunguarded; yet who was there to commit this outrage? There is sometreachery here, which we must sift; we must not leave our noblecountrywoman in the hands of these marauders. Trust me, Alan, we shallrecover her yet."
But the night promised ill for the fulfilment of this trust. Many hourspassed in an utterly fruitless search, and about one hour beforemidnight a thick fog increased the dense gloom, and even prevented allassistance from the torches, for not ten yards before them wasdistinguishable. Dispirited and disappointed, the king and hiscompanions threw themselves around the watchfires, in gloomy meditation,starting at the smallest sound, and determined to renew their searchwith the first gleam of dawn; the hurried pace of Alan, as he strode upand down, for he could not rest, alone disturbing the stillness allaround.
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